


300cc

by LanaSerra, spandwiches



Series: 300cc [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Consent is Sexy, Crowley is a dick, Fluff, Fluffy, Frottage, Implied Balthazar/Max/Alicia threesome (open to interpretation), Implied Sam/Jessica/Eileen threesome, Implied Switching, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Minor Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Minor Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Past Balthazar/Castiel mentioned, Past Castiel/Meg mentioned, Past Dean/Benny mentioned, Rewriting Christmas carols, Student play, Sweet boys are sweet, TA!Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Two Person Love Triangle, University AU, communication faliure, concealed identities, explicit poetry, front door frottage, love poetry, postgraduate!Castiel, pov switching, really no angst (even though Dean tries), sap, the boys fail to use their words while using ALL their words, undergraduate!Dean, unsolicited sexy poems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2020-10-29 17:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 43
Words: 87,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanaSerra/pseuds/LanaSerra, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spandwiches/pseuds/spandwiches
Summary: 300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less.Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc?Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together.A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.





	1. Friday, November 8th - Dean

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And This, Your Living Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927) by [opal_bullets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_bullets/pseuds/opal_bullets). 

> **This fic is _complete_ and will update Tuesdays/Thursdays/Sundays!**
> 
> The initial inspiration for this story came from us both reading the amazing fic [And This, Your Living Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927) by [Opal_Bullets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_bullets/pseuds/opal_bullets)'. We we're so enamored with the idea of poet Dean, and his muse Castiel that we wanted more. More poems, more romance, more sap.
> 
> The idea for the 300cc column on the website was drawn from the 3 Lines Free section of LanaSerra's university newspaper - where you could have anything printed, so long as it only took up three lines, only we updated the concept for the digital age.
> 
> A huge thanks to our Alpha reader: Ashley, who told us it didn't suck. It would have sucked more, had it not been for the magic of [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz) our Beta reader extraordinaire, and also to [@trickmarch](https://www.instagram.com/trickmarch/) for our beautiful art header. You can view more of their stunning art on Instagram.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/184766569@N08/48806768166/in/dateposted-public/)

Through the window, the classroom was bustling as students gathered up their books and papers. From the hallway, Dean could see his younger brother’s obnoxiously long chestnut hair gleaming above the rest of his classmates, Sam easily having inches to spare over almost all of them. He peeked through the glass, trying to see beyond the mass of bodies to the front of the room, wanting to get a look at the man teaching.

He could just make out a strong jaw and a mop of dark hair falling haphazardly into the man’s eyes. Dean couldn’t really see them from this distance, but he remembered them being the same color as a summer sky and just as inviting. Hopefully, Sammy wouldn’t come bounding out of his seminar so that Dean would have a chance to go in to meet him, maybe even get a chance to talk to the hot teaching assistant. Lurking outside his little bro’s classes wasn’t getting Dean anywhere, that was for sure, and looking but not touching had never been a rule Dean was interested in following.

His thoughts were interrupted by a stream of freshmen exiting the room, talking and jostling noisily. Dean was forced to take a step back from the doorway to allow them to pass, only to be pounced on by his Sasquach of a brother as he did so.

“Dean! We going to lunch? I need to tell you what Novak said. Where are we going to eat?”

“Woah, woah, Sammy, slow down.” Dean tried to restrain his brother while glancing around him to get a glimpse of the legendary TA Novak, but it was like trying to herd a moose and he found himself being towed along by Sam in the direction of the student cafeteria.

He’d have to try again another day. It wasn’t as if Sam wouldn’t have English 102 again next week, and Dean’s excuse of a standing “brotherly lunch date” hadn’t been sniffed out so far. Not that he’d really gotten an "in" with the TA yet. But he could be patient. And if push came to shove he’d just have to confess his little crush to Sam in order to get an introduction.

Sam chatted about the class as they walked across campus, singing the praises of his TA. _Preaching to the choir_, Dean thought, picturing the handsome grad student being witty and intelligent all too clearly.

“He said that he thinks I should seriously consider taking more linguistics and rhetoric classes next year so that I can start building up a solid foundation for sitting the LSAT and applying for Law School,” Sam said excitedly.

Dean sat down heavily at a cafeteria table. He was stunned. His baby brother wanted to go into law. He knew Sam was smart, of course— the kid had been running rings around Dean since he was old enough to run rings— but to have other people, clever people, acknowledging it, was both fantastic and terrifying. Dean was so proud. But at the same time, completely freaked out about how he was going to afford to pay for them both to not only get undergraduate degrees, but for Sam to also get a post-graduate one.

He’d do whatever it took. This was Sam. Shit. Dean would sell his soul to the devil himself if it meant Sam could have his dream become a reality. The kid had the brains, and Dean would be damned if he was gonna let money prevent him from reaching his full potential. He’d work more hours at the garage, see if he could find a second job on campus, too. He still had a couple of years to save after all, and Dean could be frugal when he needed to be.

“That’s wonderful, Sammy!” Dean said finally, giving his brother his best "‘proud of you’ smile. He didn’t know how long his mini freak-out had lasted, but clearly it hadn’t taken that long, as Sam just beamed at him and continued chatting away, his face shining with hope for the future. “That TA of yours certainly seems to know his shit, so if he says you should go for it, then I’m not gonna question it.”

“Novak has given me a whole list of texts to look at on the language of persuasion and made some suggestions for electives for next semester. He said I can go and talk to him anytime and he’d be happy to provide a reference to any of the professors if I have problems getting into a class.”

Dean wanted to let his mind wander further on the topic of TA Novak, but the worry of how he was going to finance all these fancy electives with their reams of required reading persisted in eating away at him.

Sam continued to gush. “He also made some suggestions for me to improve my application overall. It sounds like more and more law schools are looking for candidates that can demonstrate a balanced academic life and so I should think carefully about extra-curricular activities that I can use to support my application.” Sam paused momentarily. “Dean, are you going to eat anything?”

“What?” Dean looked down at the empty table in front of him, and at the lunch Sam had brought from home. “Oh. Yeah. Be right back.” Going forward he would have to cut back on buying food at school. It couldn’t be helped today, though, and he wasn’t gonna let on to Sam that anything had changed. But it had, Dean thought, or at least he was gonna make damn well sure it would.

***

Two hours later, Dean was scribbling in his notebook, balancing his current income against an estimation of the upcoming tide of bills he would be responsible for. He ground his teeth in frustration. He definitely needed to pick up more shifts at the garage, and that second job was going to be essential to his plan. There just weren’t enough hours in a goddamn week. At least once he graduated he could work full time, but if he didn’t get a jump start on savings now it wouldn’t be enough.

“Mister Winchester. Your answer please.”

Dean blinked and looked up at his favorite professor, Jody Mills, who was staring him down from the front of the class he had been completely ignoring in favor of his freak out. Fuck. What were they even covering today?

“Uh.”

Jody stared at him for another moment before turning to Victor beside him. “Mr. Henriksen, I assume you were paying attention, even though your friend wasn’t?”

“Yes, Professor!” Victor glanced guiltily at Dean before explaining the process for patent registration for engineering blueprints.

Shit. Professor Mills wasn’t going to forget that. Dean ducked his head and desperately tried to figure out where they were in the textbook. He needed to pay attention if he was ever going to graduate–the only thing that would give him the opportunity to get a higher paying job to help Sam and to repay Bobby.

“Thank you, Victor. That was well explained. Now, you will all be required to produce a full registration mock up as part of the submission with your assessment project, so please, everyone, go through the chapter on patents again. I will also be sending out a list of online resources that you may find helpful, so be sure to check your registered email accounts.” She walked away from the whiteboard to lean against the lecture podium. “Okay. Get outta here, and go do some reading!” She dismissed the class.

Dean groaned— he’d be damned if he was going to check his email. He and Charlie had got into a stupid argument at the start of term over whether email was an outdated mode of communication in the wake of instant messaging services, which had resulted in Dean betting Charlie fifty bucks that he could go the whole semester without needing to check his email. Well, he really needed that $50 now, so he would just have to get Victor to text him the links. He scooped his books up and made to follow Victor out of the auditorium.

“Winchester, a word please.” Professor Mills looked formidable and Dean knew he was about to get an earful.

“Hey Vic, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Sure, Dean. See ya.” Victor left him to face the music alone.

“What’s going on with you today, Dean? It’s unlike you to not pay attention.” When it was just the two of them, Professor Mills had long ago requested that they speak frankly and for him to please use her first name. “Professor Mills makes me sound like some fusty old lady with a monocle,” she’d explained at the time.

“Sorry Prof… Jody. Got a lot on my mind, is all. I’ll do my best to not let it happen again.”

“Did something happen? Is everything alright, Dean?”

“Yeah m’fine. Just my brother’s seriously considering law school and it rattled me a bit.”

“You’re worried about financing it?” Damn. She knew him too well.

“Look, Dean. There’s something you need to understand.” Jody pinned him with a look that meant business. “Your degree and skill as an engineer is going to make you extremely employable when you graduate. And you are going to graduate, Dean Winchester, if I have to drag you kicking and screaming to every single exam myself.”

Dean flushed and ducked his head. “Thanks Jody.”

“Oh, I’m not done, Dean. You need to hear this. Not only are you going to graduate but you are going to do well. There is a brain in that head of yours that you won’t even let run to its full potential you are so afraid of making a mistake. You gotta let go, Dean. Let it do it’s thing. Trust that you have everything you need in there to succeed. Be brave. Take risks. I have absolute faith that a whole lot of them are going to turn out to be bold and brilliant, just like you.”

Dean was speechless, and completely sure his whole face and neck were on fire at this point, but he nodded and held Jody’s eye.

“Please don’t underestimate yourself, Dean. Okay?”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the craziness that is this fic— we are so excited that it’s finally time to post it. And, because of this, we’re giving you two chapters today! If you have even half as much fun reading it as we did writing it then we’ll be very very happy!!!
> 
> Also, you can find both of us on Tumblr: [@lanaserra](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lanaserra) and [@spandwiches](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spandwiches). Come say hi!


	2. Monday, November 11th - Dean

_Models wanted for life art class on campus. Must be able to sit still in the nude. Compensation $20/hour session. Email: psathore@kcu.edu_

“I could handle that right? I mean, I know how to get naked,” Dean said with a cocky smirk that would have been a lecherous grin had he been looking at anyone other than his best friend of eight years. 

The redhead barely looked up from her phone long enough to roll her eyes at him. “But you fidget constantly, hate being cold and they tend to not want tattoos. Plus, it's pocket money, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah...you’re right,” he replied with a frown, looking down at his phone again, scrolling endlessly through Kansas City University’s 300cc forum. They had only been in the cafeteria for the last fifteen minutes, killing time before their next class, but it had somehow morphed into a never-ending expanse, each second exponentially slower than the last. After a weekend spent fruitlessly searching for a second job, he figured every avenue was worth trying. 

_Road Bike for sale: Specialized, 11 speed Shimano rapid-fire gears, disc brakes, Armadillo tires, 2010 model. Asking $350. Call/text: 716-922-8781_

Dean read out loud before shaking his head, “I think Baby would get jealous. No thanks.” Huh, but using the car less would save money on gas. He’d just have to walk to campus more regularly. Wouldn’t hurt his mid-riff any either.

He kept scrolling. 

_Professor L: every seminar I feel your eyes travel up to my seat, burning into my very soul. Come taste the forbidden fruit. T.G._

“Ugh,” Charlie said with a face. “Subtle much?”

“Oh god, the forbidden fruit, seriously. Tell me ‘Professor L’ doesn’t teach Language Arts.” They both chuckled at the suggestion.

_Party! Saturday 3/18 at DeltaPhiTheta. Golfing togs or no admittance. BYOB._

“Like that isn’t going to get shut down straight away now,” Dean said with a scowl.

“Fucking frat boys.”

Dean sighed. KCU’s 300 complimentary character forum was good for a lot of things, but maybe searching for some extra cash wasn’t going to be one of them. 

“I don’t know why you’re even bothering with these. I told you the play needs help— and they’re willing to pay!” Charlie argued. 

“I don’t want to be bossed around by some holier-than-thou wannabe actors, Charlie!” 

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “It’s not the actors who do the bossing, it’s the director and producer who you need to obey.” She gave Dean a look that implied that she was well aware he sometimes enjoyed being bossed around and being made to obey. “And what, dropping trou for a room full of artists for pennies is less threatening to your pride? At least you’d be creating and fixing things for the play— you know actually doing something you _like_ and _using_ your degree— you may even get extra credit!”

“I’m not going to win this one, am I?”

“Nope,” Charlie chirped with a grin.

“Fine,” Dean sighed. Money was money, right?

*** 

After the flurry of motion and sound that had been his first trip through the Arts building, Dean was surprised to find an absence of both when entering KCU’s theater the next day. The seats were empty, the lights low, the stage darkened. Even the sound of his own footsteps down the aisle felt like they had been purposefully muted out of respect for the space. They had only reached the halfway point when the atmosphere was shattered by two women arguing as they crossed the stage.

“We need to have—” 

“You know I’m sympathetic to your artistic vision dear, but we simply can’t afford it. This isn’t Broadway,” the older woman responded in a startlingly thick Scottish brogue. He’d heard that KCU employed a number of eccentric professors, but this petite redhead in a bright purple skin-tight sequined dress might just take the cake. 

“Hypocritical much, when wearing a dress made for the red carpet?” Dean mumbled.

Charlie elbowed him hard in the ribs and he coughed on his laugh. 

“But it’s essential!” the younger woman argued, waving her clipboard around. 

“No. Make do with what we have— Oh! Charlie, darling, who do we have here?”

“Professor MacLeod, may I present your new lighting and electrical specialist, fourth-year engineering student Dean Winchester,” Charlie said with a grin and a wave of her hands.

Dean fidgeted as the professor eyed him up like a piece of meat.

“Winchester, you say?” she asked, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“Uh. Yes, Ma’am.”

“Please, call me Rowena,” she purred. 

Dean shuddered and vowed to himself to refer to her as “Professor” from now on. 

“Oh ho! Won’t this be delightful!” said the other woman, smirking down at him. 

Dean shot Charlie a look and she shrugged sheepishly. 

“The Show Must Go On!” Charlie chirped, adding, “I’ll let them show you around. Catch you later, Dean!” before heading back out the way they had come in. 

“Traitor,” Dean muttered under his breath before turning back to look at the women in front of him. 

“Follow me, Dean. I’ll put you to work,” the younger woman said, as Dean quickly looked back and forth between the professor and student. 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Professor Rowena said, winking at him before sashaying off backstage. That was not a good sign. 

“I… uh… missed your name?” Dean asked.

“I didn’t offer it. It’s Meg. But you can call me ‘Director’. You report to me.” She smirked, pointed to the stairs to the stage and then walked off, swinging her hips with no less attitude than Professor McCloud had done. Dean could appreciate a fine ass on anyone, but this particular one came with a sharp smile that he knew he’d be better off leaving well enough alone. Still, Meg seemed capable and candid, both qualities that Dean was sure would make her an excellent director. He could get on board working with her— he certainly wasn’t a guy that had issues taking orders from women. Charlie and Jo both had him wrapped around their fingers, not to mention Jody. Dean flushed, remembering her impassioned speech last week.

“Well, Meg, I’m happy to be part of the crew. Where would you like me to start?”

She hesitated for a minute, before giving him a slightly sinister smile. “While I hold your bonds, it probably makes the most sense to get you your own script and then hand you over to Castiel. That way you can begin planning out what’s needed as he goes through each act in detail with you. That way by the time that we start the run-through you’ll already know the feel we’re going for in each scene. Sound good?”

Dean didn’t have a clue, but it probably wasn’t rocket science. Plus, even if it was, he’d actually managed to get a B in that class. He could do this, and he was sure he could ask _Castiel_ any questions that he might have, whoever the guy was. He nodded his agreement to Meg.

“Good. In regards to your compensation, you will receive one payment by check at the end of this term, and then a second check at the end of the play’s run. Please keep a record of the hours you work in order for us to make sure you get what is due.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said. He wasn’t likely to forget that— he was here for the money, after all.

“I send out the week’s schedules on Monday. You’re expected to show on Thursday evenings from five til I’m done with you, but you might want to show up on Tuesdays as well. Obviously, as the shit hits the fan closer to D-Day, you’ll be at mine and Clarence’s beck and call. Comprende? That might mean extra rehearsals, meetings, some weekends, extra curricular booty calls. That gonna work for you, Stud?”

“Everything except the email updates, Sweet Cheeks.” Dean winked.

Meg pouted at him. “No email?”

“Long story involving a somewhat ambitious bet, but I will make sure I check in with you regularly so that I don’t miss anything. I can get Charlie to pass on any important information to me too,” Dean reassured her.

“Well then, Dean McStudly. It’s a pleasure to have an extra body on set. Especially a mighty fine one like yours.” Meg returned the wink and thrust a hand out for him to shake, or kiss… he wasn’t entirely sure which she was expecting.

He shook it. “Yeah, I think this might actually work out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will post on Thursday - subscribe so you don't miss any posts!
> 
> In the mean time, come say hi on Tumblr. We are [@spandwiches](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spandwiches) and [@lanaserra](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lanaserra)


	3. Tuesday, November 12th - Castiel

“Through the Fool, Shakespeare is really trying to show that truth can sometimes only be accepted when it is delivered in a less threatening format.”

Castiel let the discussion continue around him. The class were making good points and, in a few cases, even backing up their arguments with actual lines from the text, so he was content to let them talk while his mind drifted to his own play.

He would be attending tonight’s run-through, as he did every Tuesday night to check in on how the rehearsals were progressing. He’d watch them, making notes on the script so that he and Meg could review and discuss what either of them felt needed to be changed. So far it had been a really positive experience and hugely helpful with regards to pushing him to improve his writing. Meg was an incredible director, bringing nuances of his script to life that he hadn’t even been conscious of including until he saw how Meg had asked a certain line to be read or had an actor positioned to give another dimension of meaning to the scene. 

It was what Castiel loved about drama: that the same piece of text— dialogue and stage directions— could convey a completely different meaning in the hands of one director or another. It was thrilling to walk in to watch a play that he himself had written and never know exactly what version of the story would be performed at each rehearsal. 

“From a feminist perspective, perhaps there was no way that Cordelia could tell the King and have him really listen to her. Maybe it isn’t the Tom being a Fool that prompts Lear to finally accept the truth, maybe it’s that it was a man doing the telling.”

As much as Castiel didn’t like Professor Crowley, he had to concede that his habit of playing Devil’s Advocate in his teaching did tend to spark some very interesting debates in seminars— a habit that Jessica Moore seemed to have picked up. Good. He liked Jess, and was happy when she’d told him she wanted to audition for _Free Will_, and even happier when she’d been cast— in spite of being a freshman. She had told him that rehearsals had gone well and that Meg had mentioned she’d found someone to do the lights and sound. Finally. Castiel had been starting to worry that they wouldn’t be able to find anyone and he would be forced to abandon the whole project. 

“I still think the two suck up sisters did the right thing.” 

Castiel was pulled back to the class he was supposed to be teaching at the sound of Tyson’s voice reiterating the point that had sparked the debate in the first place. It had clearly gone well beyond his understanding of the subtleties of King Lear by this point. 

It was time to wrap this up, Castiel decided. “And that, Mr. Brady, can be the topic of your essay. You are all aware that the mid-term papers are due on Friday. Professor Crowley is expecting some really interesting analysis on the treatment of women in both King Lear and Othello, and I will also be reading through them. I want to see some of the excellent points made in our discussions here backed up by the text and some relevant literary criticism. Don’t disappoint! OK. See you all next Tuesday.”

The class began to gather their notes and head out of the classroom. Castiel likewise tidied up his papers and began making his way to the theater at the opposite end of the Arts building. He knew he had ample time to go and get some food from the cafeteria before the time scheduled for rehearsal, but he still had the sandwich he’d made for lunch and had forgotten to eat at the bottom of his backpack. Anyway, he liked to get there early and settle in before anyone else arrived. He’d get up on stage and wander around with his script, eyes closed, trying to hear the actors voices speaking his lines. He’d imagine the lights and set that didn’t yet exist and how they would enhance or detract from the words being spoken. 

He could picture Celeste saying “I’m the one who held you, and pulled you from Hell!” Hmmn, he needed to make that line stronger, the wording more emotive. But at the start of Act two, Diana entering from stage right: her body language would be loud enough, he decided. He could cut that speech about belonging. Or maybe just one word or two words would do— “My Home.” Plus the distance from there to where he wanted the car built wouldn’t give her sufficient time to deliver the speech as written anyhow.

Today when he arrived, however, the stage was not bare. Castiel looked up as he walked from the back of the theater to where Meg was on stage, standing next to possibly the most beautiful man Castiel had ever seen. 

“Ah, Clarence! I’ve got someone for you to meet,” Meg called out to him.

Castiel tilted his head involuntarily to the side, gazing up at the man, taking in his broad shoulders, his muscled forearms exposed by the pushed-up sleeves of a soft grey henley, his long lean legs and sensible work boots. His features were fit to be sculpted in marble, and his presence had an air of authority to it. Castiel's mouth went dry.

“Ahem.”

Oh, yes. Meg had said she would introduce them. Castiel could feel himself begin to panic, wondering exactly how long he had been staring. Meg frequently chastised him for being too intense. He wrenched his gaze away from the man to Meg, nodding to her in what he hoped was a nonchalant gesture.

She beckoned to the man and they walked across the stage toward the steps at the edge which led down to the seating area. Good lord. He had bowed legs. It was the most <s>endearing</s> attractive thing Castiel had ever seen, well, until he noticed how perfectly the man’s blue jeans clung to his ass. This was going from bad to worse.

They walked down the stairs and over to where Castiel stood, seemingly rooted to the spot. Meg gave him a meaningful look and he tried once more to focus.

“Castiel, this is Dean. He has been hired to do Light and Sound Engineering for the play.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Castiel was going to be working with this Adonis— Dean— for the next few months. How was he going to stay sane? More importantly, how was he supposed to get any work done? 

Meg ploughed on, ignoring Castiel’s inability to form coherent thoughts or words.

“And Dean, this is Castiel, the playwright. The production is an element of his Postgraduate Thesis, so despite my being in charge, he is very much your go-to in terms of creative vision.”

Dean seemed to freeze momentarily, no doubt appalled by Castiel’s dishevelled appearance or some such, but then seemed to recover and stuck out his hand to greet Castiel. It took Castiel a moment before he summoned enough courage to shake it (rather erratically). “Glad to finally meet you,” Dean said with a slight smile. He had a beautiful, melodic voice, Castiel thought and would put money on him having a heavenly singing voice.

“Hello, Dean.” He realized he was staring again, lost in the sea of green that was Dean’s eyes, and that he was still holding man’s hand despite having stopped shaking it.

Meg coughed and Castiel dropped both the hand and his gaze.

“Well, I have a million things to do before the run-through with the cast, so I will leave you two to start going over the script together.”

Castiel’s head snapped up to give Meg a panicked look, but she simply smiled smugly at him as she turned and headed back towards the stage.

_“The field’s chief flower, sweet above compare,  
More white and red than doves or roses are!” _

Castiel couldn’t help remembering Venus’ description of Adonis and thinking that Shakespeare would have had an endless source of inspiration in Dean. Fortunately, thinking of the poem also reminded him that Venus also declared that love would always be tempered by sorrow. That had certainly been true in Castiel’s experience. Best that he stay focused on business and resist the urge to try and map constellations in the freckles which splashed across Dean’s nose and cheeks. 

This was going to be a very long evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He he he - unfortunately for Cas, this was a short chapter! Stay tuned for our next update on Sunday~
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr: @lanaserra and @spandwiches


	4. Tuesday, November 12th - Dean

Dean had been doing his best to pay attention to what Castiel was saying instead of listening to the cadence of his voice. But the deep gravelly sound vibrated through his body making his hair stand on end in the best possible sort of way. Aphrodisiac didn’t begin to cover it. If he could find a way to bottle that sound and sell it, he’d put Viagra, Cialis and Lavitra out of business, let alone be able to pay for Sam to get through law school.

Trying to take notes and focus on what was going on onstage instead of drinking in the shock of messy black hair, or the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, was a challenge Dean hadn’t been expecting when he arrived at the theater today. Castiel hadn’t recognized him, thank god… but that was to be expected. It’s not like camping out outside your brother’s classroom for half a semester was something that generated relationships, at least of the unstalkery kind.

“—need there to be a spotlight on the car in this scene.”

“Sure.”

“It’s really important. It represents the sisters' home and their life, and how that changes over the course of the story,” Castiel said, his eyes turned towards the stage, unfocused. It was important to him then, based in some truth. Dean could handle that.

“You got it, Cas.”

“Cas?” The head with perfect bed hair snapped to focus on him, his eyes like pools of summer sky.

“Is that okay?” Dean hedged. Had he gone too far? They had just met, after all. Technically. But he’d been listening to Sam go on about TA Novak for a while now, and it wasn’t as if he could call him that anymore. Cas-tee-el was just something of a mouthful. Oh god, Dean did not need to be thinking about having his mouth full of this man in any way right now if he was going to be able to do his job.

Cas’s eyes softened and the corners of his lips twitched up. “Yes, that’s fine, I suppose. No one usually…” he trailed off and made a conciliatory gesture with his hands, his cheeks flushing, so slightly that anyone who wasn’t looking at him as hard as Dean was wouldn’t have been able to tell.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and grinned at Cas. “Good. And I get it. Er, about your name. But about the car too. Baby means everything to me.” At Cas’s blank look he explained, “I restored my car from the frame up. A ‘67 Chevy Impala— she’s my Baby.”

It was surprisingly easy to talk to Cas. And not even just about the play. True, Dean did find himself getting lost in the rich rumble of Castiel’s voice, or the blue depths of his eyes from time to time, but he found that he was actually enjoying the work as much as the company.

“I’d like to project wings on the backdrop… is that something we can do?”

“Wings?”

“Celeste is an Angel and is showing her wings to Diana to prove it. I wanted it to be a stunning moment.”

“It sounds like one. I’m sure we could set something up,” Dean said, glancing at Cas with a smile. Cas blinked at him momentarily before he flushed pink and smiled back. Dean felt a rush of pleasure at the sight of the smile he’d caused. “Did you want them to be animated or still?”

“You… you can animate them?!” Cas asked incredulously.

“Well…” Dean hedged, running a hand through his hair, “technically I’d just be projecting the animation onto the background.” Dean looked away, his eyes roaming everywhere except back to Cas’s face. “We’d… I’d, uh… have to get someone to create the animation for us.” He chanced a look back at Cas and was stunned to see Cas staring at him with a look of such hope and excitement that it nearly took his breath away.

“That would be amazing! Thank you, Dean!” Cas exclaimed before taking a deep breath and continuing at a much calmer level, if not still a hopeful one. “If you don’t think… it would be too much to get done?” 

“Nah.” Dean grinned. “Ask and you shall receive, Cas.” He was rewarded with another blush. He’d totally call in a few favors to see that again. Not to mention that he would quite happily meet requests that weren’t related to the play in any way whatsoever, should Cas be inclined to make them.

“It’s just how they meet for the first time,” Cas said with a smile, turning his gaze back to the stage. “An Angel falls in love with a human against all the laws of God and man. And the human defies fate, saves the world, and falls in love with the Angel in return.”

“Damn, Cas,” Dean said in amazement, “that’s some story.”

“—I fixed you, Celeste!” said a familiar voice, startling Dean. He flushed, not knowing how long they’d been sitting just staring at each other, and turned to look at the stage where his little brother stood. 

“End this, Celeste!” Sam boomed, sounding convincingly commandeering.

“Sammy?” Dean said, addressing the stage.

Sam stopped mid-line to look down at Dean and turned bright red. “Dean?! Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question!”

Sam puffed out his chest and tightened his jaw. “I’m in the play,” he said before gesturing to the stage, “clearly.”

“Since when?!”

“Since my TA suggested drama was an excellent way to hone my public speaking and courtroom performance skills and I auditioned, Dean.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t need to know!”

“The hell I didn’t.”

“Why are you here, Dean?” Sam said crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Lighting and Electrical,” Dean said with a smirk. 

“And you didn’t tell me because…?”

“Because this is my first day.”

*****

“Oh my god, Charlie. You set me up! You knew it was Cas’s play when you suggested it! What the hell did you get me into?!” Dean cursed into the phone as he paced back and forth across the living room he shared with his friend, Benny. Charlie had the gall to laugh at him.

“It’s ‘Cas’ already is it? I’m pretty sure he was merely _Sammy’s hot TA _ last week.” Her smirk was audible through the phone. “I think the words you’re looking for are 'Thank you, Charlie’. He’s cute, right? Well, for a dude.”

“Charlie!”

“What? I’m not wrong.”

Dean grumbled, muttering, “No, you’re not.”

“What was that, Handmaiden? I didn’t quite hear you…”

Dean scowled and kicked a pillow that had somehow ended up in his walking path. He sighed and picked it up, putting it back on the couch where it belonged. Benny would skin him alive if he started getting destructive with their things. 

“I said: No. You’re not.”

“Not what, Dean?” she responded with mock innocence.

“You’re not wrong, alright!” Dean practically shouted, before adding with quiet reverence, “He’s beautiful.” 

“Awwww!” Charlie cooed at him.

If he had to be completely honest with Charlie (and thank god he didn’t because he’d never hear the end of it), he couldn’t get Cas out of his mind. He’d already been lusting over him from afar from weeks, but now Dean was getting to know him. Not only was he beautiful, but he was creative and intelligent and sincere. Witty too. The way he fought with such passion to ensure that his vision was uncompromised… it was mesmerizing. And it wasn’t just some snooty ‘my way or the highway’ difficult artist with delusions of grandeur. He really cared about the people in his play, as if they were real people who deserved to have their story told. Dean wished he knew the whole of Cas’s story...

He’d gotten so caught up in thinking about Cas that he’d completely tuned Charlie out and, by the tone of her voice, she’d been trying to recapture his attention for some time.

“Dean!”

He’d been so absorbed in thinking about those perfect blue eyes he’d not even realized he’d been staring blankly at a wall. “Uh… Sorry Charlie,” Dean said apologetically and turned around to walk the other way back across his dorm room. He immediately ran into Benny who was standing in his path.

“What’s wrong, brother?”

“Benny! I, uh…didn’t see you there!”

“No shit.” Benny grinned. “You also didn’t hear me come in, or say hello, or even sneak up behind you. Is that Charlie? You guys okay?”

“Hey Charlie, Benny just got back. I’ll call you later, okay? Thanks!”

“Dea—” Charlie’s voice was cut off as he ended the call. 

“We’re good, man. Totally fine,” Dean said quickly, looking up at his psychiatrist, roommate and ex, rolled into one. 

“And that’s why you look like you’ve been pacing since you got home, is it?” Benny said raising an eyebrow, his arms crossed over his broad chest. 

Dean held his ground for one heartbeat, then two. The moment stretched into three and he finally caved, knowing he’d feel better if he confessed. “I started working for a play being put on by the drama department. I’m doing electrical and sound work, helping out wherever they need.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“And… and the play was written by a Master's student. It’s part of his thesis.” 

Benny just stood silently, waiting him out. Dean cursed in his head about intuitive Cajuns and their stubborn wills. “And…” Dean sighed, all of the fight leaving him, “...he’s Sam’s TA from English 102.”

“The one you’ve been crushing on?”

Dean sighed and looked up at Benny. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen _and_ he’s a literary genius, not to mention kind and funny.”

“Uh-huh. And watcha gonna do about it, Brother?”

“Um… I wasn’t…” Dean laughed. “Okay, so what if I was going to keep flirting with him and hope he maybe noticed?”

“So he’s like any of your other conquests, then?”

“What?! No!” Dean snapped and immediately flushed at Benny’s raised eyebrow. “Okay, so I need to do something more. Something better.”

Benny nodded and smiled. 

“Do you have anything in mind or are you just going to stand there with that smug look?”

“Definitely just standing smugly, brother.”

“Asshole,” Dean swore, but he was smiling. 

“Why don’t you give Charlie a call back— girl’s full of ideas, or Jo even,” Benny suggested. “I’m going to go take a nap before my shift tonight. Good luck, Dean.” Benny placed a hand on his shoulder briefly before he turned and walked back out of their common area. 

Dean was already calling Charlie by the time he lost sight of Benny’s broad back down the hallway.

“You’re lucky I even answered after you hung up on me before!” Charlie said by way of a greeting. 

“Sorry, Charlie. But I need your help.”

“Of course you do,” she responded smartly. “Talk to me about this blue-eyed, dark-haired dreamboat.”

Dean sighed. “Cas... He’s umm… different from other people. I mean, I feel differently about him. More. And Benny thinks— I mean, I agree!— that I need to treat him differently, or go about it differently— Better, I mean! Wooing, I mean.”

“So you’re actually going to do something romantic, for once.” Charlie laughed. “Don’t worry, I got you, Dean. How direct do you want to be? Flowers? Chocolates?”

“No!” Dean said, his heart beating a mile a minute with the implications of those sort of gestures running through his head like a bad rom-com. “God, no, nothing like that…” He went back to pacing and running his hands through his hair.

“Well, what about sending him a 300cc?”

“That’s—” Dean started and stopped. That wasn’t ridiculous, right? After all, Cas was a writer, wooing him with words seemed appropriate. But what kind of words could he use without it sounding trashy? He wanted Cas to appreciate the gesture, if not fall for his words, and 300 characters definitely wasn’t much to work with… Poetry. Love Poetry. The thought flashed through Dean’s brain like a shot of lightning, stopping him in his tracks. Dean’s ears burned with embarrassment. It was romantic, literary, and could be short right? He did only have 300 characters to work with, after all. Dean could write poetry. Did write poetry, not that anyone knew that. But could he write Cas a love poem? 

_“Be brave. Take risks. I have absolute faith that a whole lot of them are going to turn out to be bold and brilliant, just like you…”_

He could do that. Be brave. Take risks. Be brilliant, or at least give brilliance a shot…

“Charlie, you’re a genius.” 

“I know I am,” she responded, a grin in her voice.

“Swear, right now, that you won’t tell anyone,” Dean growled.

“I won’t tell anyone what, Dean?” she wheedled, “That you’re going to send Castiel anonymous messages on 300cc?”

“Yes. And…” Dean mumbled the end of the sentence incoherently.

“What was that, Handmaiden?”

Dean sighed and the fight left him for the second time that night. It just wasn’t his day. 

“They’re not just going to be messages, okay? They’re going to be… poems… And when did I say I was ever going to write more than one? Poem, singular.”

Charlie whooped over the phone, the sound of her glee carrying on well past the time she should have responded. 

“Go get ’em, Tiger!”

Dean groaned.


	5. Wednesday, November 13th - Castiel

“I simply don’t believe that he only just found out about the trip. If he knew he wasn’t going to be able to do it we could have found someone else to build the set. Now we have odd bits and pieces with no notes, no direction and no one to finish it!” Castiel huffed in exasperation, looking at the mish-mash of set that Lucifer had left them with.

“Calm down, Clarence. You freaking out on me isn’t going to help solve the issue. Anyway, it’s hard to feel too distressed. He was kind of a dick.”

Castiel nodded, he hadn’t particularly liked Lucifer either, but set designers seemed to be surprisingly hard to come by. “Perhaps you’re right, maybe this will be a blessing in disguise.”

“That’s my Unicorn! Now pass me the laptop and let’s write an add for 300cc. We’ll find someone.”

Castiel handed the computer over the chair backs to where Meg sat in the row in front of him. She opened it and clicked away, ignoring him while she navigated to what she wanted.

“You do know what 300cc is?”

Castiel thought it might have something to do with IV fluids. “300 cubic centimetres?”

“God, Clarence, you live under a rock! It’s a section of the student website: 300 Complementary Characters. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less. Sort of like Twitter and Craigslist had a baby, only it's specific to the KCU campus. You can only read or submit to it from a campus IP or VPN.”

Castiel looked at her with his brow furrowed in confusion. “I maybe understand?”

“Ugh! Here, let’s find you an example.” She was silent for a moment as she read the screen and scrolled periodically.

“Okay, here we are:”

_Roommate wanted for shared house opposite Astrology department. Large sunny unfurnished room, three others living in the house with a well-equipped kitchen, great communal living/dining room and two full baths. $260/month incl. utilities and wi-fi. No pets/smokers._

“Make more sense now?”

“It’s a sort of virtual bulletin board.”

“And that’s why he’s the one studying words. Couldn’t have said it better.” She smiled indulgently at him.

“I’m going to see if there is anything relevant on here while you whip us up some text. Sound good?”

Castiel nodded.

“But only 300 characters, okay, so nothing too verbose please, Clarence.”

Castiel decided it made the most sense to ignore Meg’s direction and write the advertisement out in full first, getting down everything he wanted to say, however he wanted to say it. Once he was happy with the sentiment he could edit the language and text to fit the format. He’d used the same process when he wrote a short script entirely in iambic pentameter.

_Experienced set designer and builder required for a University production of an original play, part of a postgraduate thesis. Some elements already in progress. Must be able to work independently and quickly. Individual and group applications welcomed. Compensation is $10/hour, resume fodder and the occasional home-baked cookie._

Castiel checked the character count and was pleasantly surprised to see that it was barely over the limit. He’d only have to do minor edits, as long as Meg didn’t want to add anything significant.

“Oh. My. God. Castiel.”

Castiel looked up, taken aback at Meg’s use of his real name. She only ever called him by it when something was seriously wrong.

“Look at this! If this isn’t about you I will eat my hat.”

“You don’t have a hat.”

“Fuck off, you know precisely what I mean. Here, LOOK!” She shoved her laptop over the chairs at him.

Castiel looked at the screen. “It’s the 300cc page.”

“Obviously. But _read_ the one at the top, the poem.”

Castiel looked for something resembling a poem and began to read.

_At first, the world was grey. But then Thursday came, _   
_Heaven sent, unlocking the spectrum of my heart._   
_Now the sky will always be the color of your eyes._   
_The black iridescence of the raven’s wing_   
_The hair curling at the back of your neck._   
_It twists out of reach saying “look, but don’t touch”._

“It’s quite good. I certainly like the imagery. But I don’t see why you think it’s about me. Yes, I have dark hair, but so do a million other people.”

“Thursday? Castiel, oh Angel of said day? Heaven sent? Ahem. Blue eyes, dark hair. It’s you, Mister Angel of Thursday, or I’ll kiss Gabriel.”

Castiel shuddered. “Ugh, don’t do that.”

Meg laughed. “Seriously though, Clarance, you have a secret admirer!”

“I still think the Thursday thing could just be coincidental, not to mention that some people think my name is Clarence, which has nothing at all to do with any day of the week.”

“Still angelic though. Heaven sent.”

Castiel huffed out a breath in irritation. He hated when Meg got like this, she was like a puppy with a fresh tennis ball.

“We shall simply have to admire the poem for what it is and be none the wiser.”

“I can prove it’s you.”

He frowned at her, a scowl settling over his features. “How?”

“Send a response.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” Castiel wasn’t going to indulge this ridiculous notion.

“Why not?”

“Because….” Because it was ridiculous. Who would write him a poem? And why? He couldn’t help the image of Dean that suddenly popped into his mind. No. Not only was that ridiculous, it was impossible.

“See,” Meg cut into his thoughts, “you don’t have a reason not to.”

“Can we please get back to finding a set builder?” Castiel tried not to sound too desperately pleading.

“Just tell me you’ll consider it.”

Ugh. This was not what he needed. He already had a world of distraction in the form of Dean, the last thing he needed was his thoughts drifting to some faceless (albeit talented) poet whilst he was trying to work. But he knew Meg wouldn’t move on without an answer.

“Fine. I’ll consider it. But not now. Can we please get back to work?”

“Excellent.” Meg grinned smugly at him.

Castiel sighed. Great. Just great.

***

It was late when Castiel finally got back to his house. Anna was in her room, painting, no doubt, and Hannah was likely at work. Their job as Stage Manager at Lyric Opera often meant that they weren’t home until the early hours of the morning. Maybe if Castiel drew a complete blank trying to find a new set designer for _Free Will_ he could beg help from Hannah. Although when they would fit it in around their own work schedule he couldn’t begin to imagine. Hopefully, his and Meg’s advertisement in the 300cc section would be a success.

Thinking about 300cc automatically made him think of the poem. Could it really have been meant for him? He realized that he’d sat down at his desk without thinking, opening his computer and clicking on the web browser. He’d just read it one more time. Just so that he could rule out any possibility that it might be aimed at him.

There it was.

He reread it once. Twice. It really was a good poem. Not overly complex. But the theme of color running through it was well done. The biggest problem was that the more he read it, the more he thought that Meg might be right. He was named for the Angel of Thursday, and that was a rather big coincidence when paired with the allusion to blue eyes and black hair. Not the most common combination, although far from unique.

Castiel sighed.

He should get on with reading the mid-term papers so that he could pass them, along with his comments, on to Professor Crowley tomorrow morning. He pulled the stack of essays out of his messenger bag and began trying to make sense of the argument that Tyson Brady was making, rather poorly.

_Why me?_

The thought came unbidden. He was flattered. Very much so, but he also felt a little like he had been put in the spotlight without even having been cast in the show.

He began scribbling lines in the corner of his notepad, not caring that he was writing in the middle of his notes on Brady’s essay.

Damn, Meg and her ever-insightful suggestions.

He got to the end of a line and then crossed it out. It didn’t scan quite right. He tried again. Yes, better, and more the tone he was aiming to convey.

Ten minutes later and he’d posted a poem to 300cc. Now he had to rewrite his notes so that he’d have something he could actually hand over to Professor Crowley. Just because he’d replied to the poem with one of his own, didn’t mean he wanted to admit it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think of the first poem? And yes, Cas has replied so of course you will get to read that one too... when Dean does!
> 
> As we mentioned at the start of the story, the poems were inspired by the wonderful fic [And This, Your Living Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927) by [Opal_Bullets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/opal_bullets/pseuds/opal_bullets), and came long before this story as a whole. We started sending each other lines back and forth, and they just sort of happened— sometimes more or less fully formed, and sometimes in fragments that got pieced together or extensively reworked. The story was absolutely just the vehicle to deliver the poetry, but then we got kind of into that too, and here we are!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left comments, it's so nice getting your views as the story progresses. Remember, you can also find us on Tumblr: [@lanaserra](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lanaserra) and [@spandwiches](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/spandwiches).
> 
> Next chapter coming on Thursday— find out what Dean (and everyone else) thinks about Castiel's reply poem.


	6. Thursday, November 14th - Dean

Dean had rushed through his day, eager to get back to work on the play, eager to see if Castiel had seen his poem. It was a long shot, sure, but he couldn’t help but feel energized knowing that he had taken that first step.

He pushed open the theater doors so enthusiastically that they hit the sides, causing a large bang to fill the theater. Claire and Kaia, up on stage, stopped mid-line to look at him while Meg scowled from her place in the audience. In fact, everyone turned to look at his entrance. Dean flushed.

“Nice of you to join us, Dean,” Meg drawled, “Would you mind terribly if we continued what we were doing? Or did you need something?”

“No! Uh… No. Sorry about that,” Dean said, flushing to the roots of his hair. He clutched at his backpack and slowly made his way down the aisle. A quick look left him disappointed— Castiel was not in attendance.

Meg raised an eyebrow at him and smirked knowingly. “Don’t worry, there’s plenty for you to do, even if Clarence isn’t here.”

Shit. Dean ducked his head and quickly found a seat out of Meg’s line of sight. He opened his script and hoped he’d be able to find what scene they were on.

“Carry on!” she called to the girls on stage.

“My superiors have begun to question my sympathies.” Kaia read her line.

“Your sympathies?” Claire answered.

“I was getting too close to the humans in my charge.” Kaia moved into Claire’s personal space. “Too close to you.”

The girls stared at each other for a long moment before Kaia continued. “They feel I’ve begun to express emotions… the doorways to doubt.”

“And do you agree?” Claire’s voice was practically a whisper. Dean could feel anxiety and anticipation radiating off of her.

“Yes. I think I do,” Kaia said back softly, infusing Celeste’s line with a longing Dean was suddenly all too familiar with.

“GOOD!” Meg called from her seat. The rest of the cast applauded as Claire and Kaia turned red and stepped back from one another. “Take five— I need to make some notes.”

Dean had found where they were at in the script by that point and was reading through the scene again. Once more he was amazed at the sheer creativity and passion Castiel had managed to portray in so few words. But also how these women were now bringing them to life, giving them even more beauty and meaning. He was so caught up in reading that he missed most of the conversations going on around him until someone mentioned 300cc.

“Did you see that poem posted on 300cc today!?”

“Yeah, I did! Do you think it’s in response to yesterday’s?”

“Nah! It couldn’t be…. Could it? Shit! It really could.”

“Kinda make sense. One person reaches out into the dark and another responds with the poetic equivalent of WTF!”

Script forgotten in his lap, Dean frantically searched for his cellphone to pull up 300cc. He kept glancing up while it loaded, hoping against hope that no one thought he was acting erratic or would call him away before he’d had a chance to check. Finally! There, third from the top.

_The streambed was peaceful._  
_A pebble like any other,_  
_ Moved only by the seasons’ flow._  
_ Even with a few sifted in your palm,_  
_ How was I the one you noticed shine?_  
_ You plucked me, polished me and now I glow_  
_ Golden in the sunshine of your knowing eyes._

Dean sat there stunned. Was it even for him? He read it again, and then again for a third time. It was lovely, there was no doubt. But surely Cas didn’t consider himself ordinary. If this poem was even written by Cas. It couldn’t be. Cas surely knew his beauty and talent shone brightly, especially in this darkened theater. He was impossible to miss, even if his presence on stage was only in words. This couldn’t be a response to his poem. Hell, who knew if Cas even read 300cc. Dean continued to scroll— maybe there was another response further down. How many people actually posted in a day anyway? Three posts down he found an advertisement for a set designer for the play. Dean sighed. Okay, so Cas knew about the site for sure then, used it even. Or wait. Maybe Meg had posted that and Cas had nothing to do with it? He read over the advertisement again. It didn’t sound like Meg, that was for sure. Dean could feel the energy of Cas’ writing even in this basic request for someone to build a set. It was like magic— a spell or a summons.

He continued scrolling and found his poem soon after. None of the other posts were related. Those stupid frat boys were still advertising for their party and another, so badly misspelt, Dean dismissed it out of hand.

He scrolled back up to the poem and read it again. He wanted to know— no he needed to know— if this was in response to his poem and, if so, who had written it. Maybe he had unwittingly started something that spoke to many people instead of just the person he had intended it for. Maybe there would be multiple responses from different sources all hoping he was talking to them? Dean flushed with the thought. He hadn’t meant to get other people’s hopes up, just bolster his own.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean was startled so bad he nearly dropped his phone. “Uh, hey, Cas.” His reply came out as a squeak.

Cas frowned. “Sorry if I startled you.”

Dean coughed and cleared his voice so it was back to its regular baritone. Or lower, if he was being honest. “No. No, I’m fine, just, er, didn’t see you there… Did you need to get by?”

“No. That’s fine. Just here to say hello.” Cas looked at the rest of the cast sitting in rows toward the stage, closer to Meg. Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean. “They don’t bite.”

“Meg might,” Dean snarked. “Plus I get a better sense of the lighting needs from back here, while still being close enough to hear Meg’s directions.”

Cas nodded, paused, and then took a seat next to Dean.

Dean’s eyes widened and he clutched his phone. “They, uh… Claire and Kaia were just doing a scene about Celeste starting to feel things… uhh, non-angelic things… I mean… sympathies.” Dean’s ears burned. Why was he so goddamn awkward around Cas?

Cas’s eyes crinkled and his lips twitched.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I might be,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head and laughed. “I’m not usually this awkward, I promise. It’s just, I’m not used to working with an audience. Er, not an audience like this audience,” he gestured to the seats all around them. “I mean, when I’m building car engines, or mapping out electrical plans, usually, it’s just me, you know. Alone with the schematics and my thoughts.”

“I understand,” Cas said and glanced over at Dean. “Writing is quite similar. It’s a solitary exercise most of the time. This—” he gestured to the theater, “—is an entirely new process for me as well. You don’t mind me being ‘behind the scenes’ with you, do you?”

“No! Course not!” Dean responded quickly, blushing at how adorable Cas was using air quotes to explain that he didn’t literally mean they were behind the scenery. Which, aside from anything else, didn’t even exist yet. “We can be awkward together, behind the scenes.”

Thinking of the non-existent set gave Dean an idea. “So, I saw you’re looking to hire a set designer?” Dean commented, trying to seem as casual as possible.

“Oh, yes. It was Meg’s idea to advertise. We do need one, Lucifer having characteristically fucked us over,” Castiel explained, his eyes never leaving the stage where Claire and Kaia had started the scene again.

Dean tried not to dwell on the way “fucked” sounded in Cas’ smoky voice.

They sat in silence watching the rehearsal for a moment before Cas continued, “I didn’t know you read the 300cc.”

“Oh. Well. I do. Everyone does, right? Figure most students check it at least once a week… I’m kinda surprised you do, seeing how busy you are,” Dean hedged, “plus I thought that it was more of an Undergraduate thing? Probably?” Just because Cas had written the advertisement didn’t mean he checked the rest of the feed first. Or ever, Dean reminded himself.

“It is nice to take a short break sometimes, to refresh with something completely different from the rest of your day,” Cas said thoughtfully.

“Yeah. Totally.”

“Plus, sometimes you find something unexpected.” Cas looked away, towards the action on the stage.

“In my experience, it’s the unexpected things that change your life the most,” Dean responded quietly.

Cas turned to look back at him with concern, an unasked question in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, not all of them were bad.” Dean offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “After all, y— all this, the play, was unexpected.” Cas followed Dean’s gaze as it panned across the stage, the seating, the lighting rig overhead and then settled back on Cas himself. “It seems like it’s going to be quite the adventure.” Dean pushed on, hoping that Cas didn’t catch his slip or the fact that he was still staring. “Like if I hadn’t met Charlie in detention in high school I doubt I’d even be in College, and, well, without Bobby suddenly coming back into our lives, who knows where Sammy and I’d be right now. Yeah, all in all, I’d put ‘unexpected’ in the positive column.”

“Dean.” Cas looked at him with concern, his head tilting slightly in that way of his, that Dean had already come to appreciate a little too much.

“Sorry, Cas. Didn’t mean to get heavy on you. You don’t want my life story.”

“All stories are worth telling. I appreciate you being comfortable sharing it with me.”

“Well, it’s hard not to when you’re sharing so much of yourself with us.”

“You mean the play? Not many people pick up on the autobiographical aspects of it.” Cas looked down at his hands.

“Cas, buddy, you’re in every scene.”

Cas’s eyes went wide. He blushed and ducked his head.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“Er, so yeah, I was thinking, we should probably have all the main lights drop when Celeste tells Diana about her feelings. Because that would reinforce the sense that when they connect on that level the rest of the world, worlds, drop away. In those moments, nothing else exists but each other, right?”

Cas nodded emphatically.

“Yeah, so having them in spots would really help build on that.”

“I’m really glad Charlie was able to persuade you to do this, Dean.” Cas smiled at him.

“Yeah, Cas. So am I.”

They stared at each other, each with soft smiles.

“Celeste!”

Dean’s head snapped towards the stage as if it had been his name Sammy had bellowed. Sometime during their conversation, everyone else had moved onto a completely different scene.

“Ugh, not gonna get used to hearing Sammy up there anytime soon.” Dean shuddered and then shrugged. “Well, back to work I guess!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel writes poems too! Not that Dean knows that, of course. Still, doesn't stop them from flirting. ;-P 
> 
> Anyway, more coming on Sunday, so be sure to subscribe so you get the updates as soon as they happen.
> 
> Happy SPN Final Season Premier day - for those of you who get to watch it live! Fingers crossed that it will be happy... at least in our world... can't help thinking that won't be the case in canon. But that's what fic is for, right?!


	7. Wednesday, November 20th, 2019 - Castiel

“I assume that the grades have been entered and that all the papers have been returned?” Professor Crowley said, drumming the tips of his fingers together as his hands steepled over his elbows propped up on his desk. Even his posture was ostentatious, Castiel thought absentmindedly. Thank goodness it was only three more days until the mid-term break. His teaching assistant duties, his own academic work and the play left him with little time to do anything else. He barely had a clean pair of socks in the drawer and he’d had Bran Flakes for dinner three nights in a row. He’d definitely stock up on the good organic soup cartons and some tinned tuna when he finally made it to the store to buy ingredients for the pie.

He couldn’t help wondering if Dean would be staying on campus for the break, or if he and Sam would be heading off to… Castiel remembered Dean talking about someone named Bobby. Who was that? A cousin? An uncle? Clearly not their father. And Castiel both hoped and feared it might be a boyfriend.

“Are you listening, Novak?” Professor Crowley glared at him with undisguised contempt. Crowley disliked graduate students only a fraction less than he disliked undergraduates, whom he, by all accounts, flat out detested.

“Yes, Professor. I just have to make copies of your handout for Friday morning’s lecture,” Crowley arched one eyebrow at him suspiciously, “which I am going to do in the resource room as soon as we have concluded this meeting,” Castiel added hurriedly as to escape unscathed.

“Well then let us conclude so that you may do so.” Crowley sat up tall in his overly large desk chair. “You are free to go, Novak.”

No “thank you”, no “enjoy the break”, nothing that any other professor Castiel had ever assisted would have offered. No, Crowley just dismissed him with a wave of his hand. Thank goodness there were only a few more classes after the break before exams kicked in. He’d have to be there to supervise, of course, but at least he would be free from Crowley’s ceaseless demands.

He headed to the resource room as he’d promised, and set the sheets in the document feeder. By now Castiel knew to double-check the settings on the copier before hitting the inviting green button, but once he’d made sure the pages would be double-sided, collated, stapled, and landscape bound, he started the job and allowed himself to take a moment to check 300cc on his phone. Something he now seemed to do three or four times a day. Just in case.

His breath caught when he saw it. His hand reaching for the copier to steady himself.

_Though you don’t speak them,_   
_Every word seems meant for me._   
_Every phrase, a whispered shout within my heart._   
_A question asked and answered,_   
_Yet longing remains._   
_I drown in your words, the timber of your voice,_   
_The quality of your soul_   
_Laid bare._   
_I come undone._

The play. The poet knew he was the playwright. Not that it wasn’t common knowledge, or that rehearsals were closed. Quite a few different students from both his creative writing class and Professor Crowley’s class had come and sat in on occasion, invited by Castiel to discuss various aspects of writing for performance versus personal reading. Some of Rowena’s students had stopped by as well— Meg’s classmates.

But this was progress! The poet was someone who had seen the play, at least some of it. He wasn’t really any closer to narrowing down who that might be, but now it was a group of fifty or so at most, rather than any member of the student body, or even the faculty, who had access to the campus network. Which was well over thirty-five thousand. Just thinking about the sheer number made him feel insignificant.

But now he had the answer to the question he’d previously asked— why him?

It was the play. Something they’d seen on stage had resonated, touched a chord within that now connected them to him. That was definitely a good sign. Castiel had deliberately chosen fantastical subject matter— Angels, Heaven and Hell— in order to shift the focus away from the fact that he was very much writing about his own fears and secret desires. It was also one of the reasons he’d chosen to make the central couple two women, have it be a Lesbian romance, instead of two men falling in love. He obviously wasn’t as good at the craft as he thought he was if someone had seen through all the careful code he’d constructed around his text.

The copier stopped whirring and the final few whooshes of paper signalled the job was complete. Castiel retrieved the originals from the feeder tray and gathered up the warm stack of neatly stapled copies. There was something eminently satisfying about the smell of freshly copied paper, it brought him back to the resource room and the present moment. He carefully packed the stack of handouts into his messenger bag (now prohibitively heavy) and left to begin his walk home.

Despite the chill in the air and the laundry list of things he needed to do when he got home, Castiel couldn’t get the poem out of his mind. So, despite always complaining about people who walked while staring down at their cell phones, he pulled it up again to re-read it. It sent an excited buzz through him, knowing that this person was out there, feeling things that he too felt. A kindred spirit, albeit it a faceless one. He had to assume it was a man if they were understanding the play in the way it sounded like they were understanding it.

A response began to take shape in his mind while he walked. A confession of sorts. Only he couldn’t compose lines to some unknown, an anonymous man who had seen a performance. Possibly not even a man. The words in his head fell away. He realized that he’d had a face in mind as he’d begun to form this poem. His mind had happily supplied him with Dean’s smile and knowing eyes, his subconscious gifting him what he wanted but was unlikely to ever get.

Well, what harm was it to have Dean as his muse? It’s not as if anyone would know, no one but the Poet would know it was him replying and he hadn’t even made it obvious in his previous poem. He’d have to find a way to let them know though, that it most certainly was him.

Once he was home, had his chores done and had eaten dinner, Castiel sat at his desk, scrawling away in his notebook for some time before he was happy with the poem. It was clearly a response to the one he had just received and hopefully revealed himself enough so the Poet would guess that he’d written it but that everyone else would be none the wiser.

He opened his laptop, a browser window, navigated his way to 300cc and began to type the poem from his notebook into the submission form. He checked it over once more for errors before hitting the “submit” button. The page refreshed, but instead of confirming his submission as it had done previously, this time he received an angry red error message: _Submission error - character limit exceeded_. No! Castiel had entirely forgotten that he was limited to 300 characters for his poem. He would have to edit it down.

However, after spending ten minutes reading and rereading it, he still hadn’t made any changes. It was exactly what he wanted to say, using the words he wanted to say it with. Any change would completely change the nature of the poem— its message, its imagery, its form. He sighed, not knowing what to do. He read it through once more because any literature student knew that the answer was always buried within the text. Sure enough, halfway through reading, it struck him. He’d just reached the end of the first stanza. Which he could post. And then post the second stanza straight after. It would be obvious it was two parts of the same poem.

Feeling pleased with himself for coming up with the solution, Castiel hit the back button on his browser, selected the second stanza of his poem, hit CTRL X and then submit. The submission successful message appeared, so he pasted in the second stanza and repeated the process. Submission successful. Perfect. Meg would be proud of him for overcoming a technical hurdle. Not that he was planning to tell her about the poems. Or anyone else for that matter. He shut the laptop and readied himself for bed, trying hard not to picture the person reading his poem as Dean, and failed miserably.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think of Dean's new poem? <3  
Crowley's a bit grumpy, isn't he? 
> 
> More chapters coming soon~!
> 
> \- [LanaSerra](https://lanaserra.tumblr.com) and [Spandwiches](https://spandwiches.tumblr.com)


	8. Wednesday, November 20th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! We decided to post an extra bonus chapter this week in honour of Canadian Thanksgiving!
> 
> We are grateful to each and every one of you for reading and commenting!
> 
> Now, who is ready for some erotic poetry?? :D

Dean found that once he had started writing, the words just kept flowing out of him. The last poem he wrote and posted had been aching to leave him and had barely taken a half-hour to write after he’d left the theater after Tuesday’s rehearsal. His thoughts had been filled with Cas and his play, _Free Will_. Charlie had called him not five minutes after he had posted it, and they had discussed endlessly the possibility of the other poem being a response to his first one and the possibility of him getting another response to this one. He hoped that this time, his message would be received by the right person, and quietly hoped that Cas would know who he was, and return his affections.

Dean had been checking the forum hourly since he’d posted yesterday, but here he was, Wednesday evening and still no response. Maybe his poem had been too much? Too forward? Maybe he had scared Cas off. Or, alternatively, maybe the person who originally responded to him realized that Dean’s poems were not meant for them? And Cas never had any intention of responding. Purely out of habit he refreshed the page and glanced at a few of the random messages that were the bread and butter of 300cc, and then there it was. Or rather…there they were. Dean read them both quickly and then again, confused before he suddenly understood what had happened and laughed. Whoever had written the poem had gone over the character limit, and had split their poem into two parts. But they had, adorably, not taken into consideration 300ccs top-down updates, making the second half of their poem sit on top of the first. Dean chuckled for a bit longer before taking a second, proper, look at the poem, in the right order.

_Pen to page, my heart spilled out_   
_ Long forgotten pain; a love I've never felt_   
_ It runs over and over, as they laugh and play_   
_ Not knowing what it costs me, not knowing what they say_

_But you alone seem to see_   
_ Who I am, who I might dare to be_   
_ Quietly watching, knowing, unravelling the thread._   
_ So much between us. Yet so much unsaid._

Dean could barely breathe. Every time he read through it, the more he felt the poem was intended specifically for him, Dean, not just an anonymous writer of love poems. What was more, it felt like it was in direct response to his previous poem, and the moment they had shared at rehearsals. Castiel knew who he was, and what’s more, agreed that there was something between them! Or maybe that was all just wishful thinking. But it was definitely Cas. Dean could just imagine him not knowing that the poem would end up appearing back to front with the most recent posts always at the top of the feed.

Dean’s phone rang in his hand. Charlie. Of course.

“Hey Char—”

“He wants more, Dean!” Charlie cut in without preamble.

“You don’t know that, Charlie! You don’t even know if it’s Cas.”

“Come off it, Dean. It’s him. You know it, I know it, all of KCU knows it.”

“Really?” Dean went red. Yeah, he knew that 300cc was read by a couple of people on campus, but he hadn’t really thought about how many people that might actually be. How many people were now watching this drama unfold? He made a mental note to look up the population of KCU later.

“Course not,” she scoffed. “Do you know everyone on campus? No. So not everyone knows you. Or at least they don’t know you yet… but they will. You’re becoming quite famous!”

“Charlie! That’s not helping.” Dean sighed and started pacing.

“Sorry, sorry. So? How are you going to respond?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

“You may want to ensure he knows you’re not just jonesing for his words”

“Meaning?”

“Let him know you want to do the horizontal tango! That you want to get down and dirty with him instead of just discussing poetry! That his ass makes your knees weak or whatever! I don’t know! Just make sure he knows this isn’t a platonic kindred spirits thing!”

At once Dean was both mortified and intrigued. Surely his poems hadn’t come across platonic. Could he write raunchy poetry? Should he? He’d been posting anonymously, but it wouldn’t take those that knew him very much longer to figure it out if they hadn’t already… and then his whole purpose of posting anonymously would be for nothing. But if Cas didn’t know how much Dean wanted him… then the whole exercise would be for nothing as well. And that was unacceptable.

“Dean! Dean?! Hello?” Charlie called out in his ear. Shit. How long had he spaced out for?

“I need to call you back.”

Dean heard a whoop of glee and Charlie yell “write sexy poetry!” before he hung up.

Sexy poetry indeed.

A few moments later, Dean had his laptop out and a blank page open and waiting for him. Unlike his first poem, the blank canvas did not scare or detract him from his task.

_I dream of your fingers_  
_How they could take me apart_  
_ While you whisper sweet nothings_  
_ Straight to my heart_

It was short. And kind of cute…maybe it could work but it didn’t feel like _enough_. He tapped his fingers on the table for a bit, got up and got himself a coffee and a snack before sitting back down. He could hear Charlie in his head saying he needed this poem to be blatant so that there could be no misunderstanding Dean’s intent.

_Your words move me, _  
_Of that there’s no doubt_  
_ But your ass makes me sing_  
_ And want to put out._

_I want your thighs round my head, _  
_ and your tongue on my skin,_  
_ But your cock in my ass_  
_ Is where I’d like to begin._

When he was done, Dean read the poem through again and groaned aloud. “Jesus, at least the first one was still classy!” This was never going to work. He’d scare Cas away for sure, or worse, make him think Dean just wanted a quick romp and that his previous poems were just a manipulation to get him into bed. Dean sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He needed to try again.

_Your words make me tremble, _  
_My heart skips a beat_  
_ I crave your touch, your lips, your heat,_

Dean made a noise of frustration. He couldn’t find a good rhyme with tremble. Assemble, disassemble, re-assemble were good but not at the end of a sentence or without an ‘ed ending. Dean shook his head and scrolled down again. He’d come back to that one. He tried again.

_You light up my heart,_  
_Like I light up your stage_  
_ What I wouldn’t give_  
_ To be the man on the page._

That was okay, although if he posted that poem he’d give himself away at once. Nope, he needed to get across his desire, not out himself. Though Dean certainly wasn’t in the closet about his bisexuality with those who knew him.

An hour later Dean looked over what he’d written with satisfaction. Yes. It was the perfect balance of sexy and romantic. He was sure that he was blushing, but that was OK. This was for Cas. He smiled and checked the character count. Fuck. 376. Welp, if Cas could split up a poem then so could he. His brain screeched to a halt. Had he fully accepted that it was, in fact, Cas responding to him? Maybe he had. Maybe that was okay. Dean grinned. He needed to call Charlie back.

**Thursday, November 21st**

The next day, Dean walked into the theater, anxious but happy. He’d been told Cas normally only attended Tuesday rehearsals so he wouldn’t have that added distraction up against the mountain of work Meg had loaded him up with— work that he was glad to do if only to avoid the amount of gossip his latest poem would have incited.

He wasn’t even halfway to the stage before he heard people talking about it.

“Did you see the new poem?”

“Did I?! I spent all night drinking and bemoaning the fact that no one has ever written me epic, sexy love poetry!”

Dean flushed and ducked his head, quickly moving through the auditorium, trying not to catch anyone’s eye.

“Castiel is so lucky!” the other person responded.

Dean practically ran up the stairs to the lighting booth. He was going to set up the projector but now it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. He dropped his backpack on the floor and started pacing back and forth across the booth, it only took him three strides to get from one side to the other, but it was enough to satisfy his desire to move.

Did everyone know his poems were for Cas? He hadn’t meant to draw this sort of attention and notoriety. That’s why he’d posted anonymously in the first place! And if everyone here knew that his poems were for Cas, then surely the man himself would know who they were for as well. What if people started harassing Cas about them? What if in his efforts to woo Cas, he’d publicly humiliated him instead?

Dean groaned and dropped into his chair, his hands covering his face. How did this get so out of control? What had he been thinking posting that sexy poem?

Well. He knew exactly what he’d been thinking about. But maybe he should have used a filter before sharing his innermost desires with the entire goddamn world. What’s worse, he wasn’t even having to deal with the fallout from his decisions— Cas was!

“I wish I could take the Poet up on his offer to bone!” someone crowed with delight from some seats near the back. Dean hung his head. The lighting booth may have been out of sight, but it certainly wasn’t out of hearing distance.

“Ha! You don’t even know who it is!”

“So? If they were truly monstrous, I’d just have them blindfold me while whispering love poetry in my ear!”

That comment earned quite a few laughs.

“Doesn’t matter either way. The poet clearly only has eyes for Castiel.” Well, that at least, was accurate.

Dean shook his head and grabbed his bag, pulling his phone out and turning on Zepp. He took a moment to breathe deep and let the music wash over him. It was time to focus on what he’d come here to do. If he didn’t he’d be letting Cas— everyone down. He pulled out his script, some electrical diagrams, and got to work.


	9. Thursday, November 21st - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to our regularly scheduled chapter!

It had been a horrible day. Castiel had woken up painfully hard, had opted to take the matter in hand and had then taken rather too long in the shower daydreaming of fantasy Dean whispering elegant verse into his ear.

Despite having skipped breakfast (but never coffee) he still hadn’t left enough time to walk to campus, so he’d jogged, arriving sweaty, out of breath and splashed with said coffee. 

His meeting with Professor Shurley hadn’t even happened, due to an undergraduate being caught plagiarizing on their mid-term paper, so Castiel had been rescheduled for tomorrow afternoon. Meaning he would have to stay on campus for lunch once he was done with Crowley’s lecture, rather than being able to use that time to go and buy groceries as he’d planned.

Lunch had only happened because he’d run into Meg, who had been served Supreme pizza rather than the vegetable slice she’d ordered and had foisted it on him in disgust while they tried to discuss the scene she was planning to run-through at this evening’s rehearsal. Balthazar had shown up, dominated the conversation, flirted shamelessly with both of them and only flitted off once it was time for Castiel to head to his office hour. Which had turned into two, because a whole troupe of Crowley’s students had come in to argue the unfairness of the grades the professor had given their papers. Castiel had felt too sorry for them to turn anyone away, despite the time it took to talk them back from the ledge.

Castiel trudged across the courtyard, now shadowed and raining, on his way to the theater in the hope that Meg would be able to take a moment to finish their discussion from lunch and talk through the rewrites he needed to make over the Thanksgiving break.

The theater was comfortingly warm and loud. Everyone seemed to be in a frenzy, no doubt excited to be almost done with the term. Castiel caught fragments of lively conversation as he moved through the auditorium towards the front seats where Meg usually sat. 

“It’s all insanely romantic.”

Ah, they were reading through the script. Castiel couldn’t help smiling. He thought the story was insanely romantic too, despite the tragic moments. After all, what was joy without sorrow, or love without pain?

“I don’t know about romance. This one is pure sin, honestly, it sounds like he wants to be fucked senseless.”

Him? Fucked? The script wasn’t explicitly sexual. And the only romance was between Celeste and Diana, a Lesbian couple. So who was the “he” they were talking about? Castiel passed another group, all tapping away on their cell phones, giggling and showing one another the screens. What the hell was going on?

He reached Meg and sat down in the row behind her as he usually did. She tended to spread out, her things breeding into piles on the seats beside her. 

“Well, your fucking admirer has made it impossible for anyone to focus today.” She addressed him without looking up from the script she was making notes on. “Here.” She thrust it at him. “I wrote out for you what I need you to change, seems I’m sure you’ll want to rush off and craft a suitably lusty response. Anyway, I want to tell them about the party and get out of here. I’m done with today.”

“It’s been a rough one for you too?” he asked sympathetically, slightly taken aback by her vehemence, often aimed at others but not at him.

“Sorry, Clarence. I know it’s not really your fault. I presume you aren’t even the one responding. But honestly, that poem was the last fucking straw today. No one can focus on anything else!”

Oh god. There was another poem. Castiel resisted the urge to pull out his phone and read it then and there. What had the guy sitting at the back of the auditorium said? Sinful? Maybe he should wait until he was back home, alone.

He focussed on Meg to distract himself. “What can I do to help?”

“Why don’t you run backstage and get the crew to come out front so I can do the final announcements. Dean and Eileen are back there, and I think Charlie and Kevin might be in the office having a meeting about the marketing materials. Be a dear and round them all up.” She gave him a tired smile.

He returned it, nodding, and headed up the stage stairs to duck around the side to the back of the stage. He found Eileen with several rolls of colored masking tape, marking placements on the wood floor. Castiel touched her shoulder and made the sign for hello. She smiled up at him and turned her attention so that she could read his lips.

“Meg wants to speak to everyone out front, and then she’s letting everyone head out.” He tried to talk clearly and not let his gaze wander, trying to spot Dean.

“Sounds good. I’m just about done with this anyway.” She signed the response as she spoke it, and Castiel tried to remember the gestures in an attempt to expand his rather limited ASL vocabulary. He’d not taken a class since his sophomore year and hadn’t had an opportunity to practice until Eileen had replied to their ad for a set designer.

“Have you seen Dean?” he asked her.

“Yes. He’s up in the lighting box.” 

Castiel touched his chin in thanks and moved towards the office to find Kevin and Charlie, only for them to appear before him as if conjured by his intention.

“Castiel!” Charlie was always friendly, and Castiel couldn’t help but like her, even if he did find her a little intimidating. She reminded him a little of Anna: all fire and indomitable attitude.

“Hello, Charlie, Kevin. Everything good?” he asked.

“Absolutely. We’ve got an idea for the posters. We’re going to consult Eileen on the artwork, and then we’ll tie that design in with the web page and eblast we’ll send out at the start of next term,” Charlie gushed, without seeming to draw breath.

Kevin nodded in agreement. “It’s going to look really good.”

Castiel smiled. “Thank you both so much for helping with this. And for sending Dean to me, er, us. All of us. For the electrics.”

“Oh yeah, no worries. He’s perfect, isn’t he?” 

Had she noticed his slip? Castiel couldn’t tell. “Yeah. Yes, he is. Er, oh, Meg wanted to have a quick word with everyone. Are you both okay to stick around for a little longer? Shouldn’t be more than ten minutes, fifteen maybe.”

They looked at each other and nodded in agreement. 

“See you in a moment then.” Castiel left them and headed to the front of the stage. He skirted around to the side aisle and up the stairs far at the back of the auditorium in order to get to the engineering and lighting box.

There was the soft sound of rock music playing in the booth as Castiel climbed the steep steps up to it. Dean was surrounded by large sheets of paper covered with diagrams and a script splashed with various colors across his knee that all promptly slid off when Castiel coughed to get his attention.

“Shit, Cas. You need a goddamn bell.”

“Hello, Dean. I’m sorry to startle you.” Castiel’s brain conveniently supplied him with a reminder of the sounds he’d made in the shower that morning as he’d spilled over his hand mentally shouting Dean’s name, and felt himself flush.

“Nah, ’sokay. I’m just cataloguing the current configuration of the rig and gels to see if I can get away with not making any changes.”

Castiel had no idea what that meant but asked, “And can you?” so as not to end the conversation before it had even begun.

Dean sighed. “No. Going to have to get up there at some point.” He looked pained.

“Is that bad?”

“Not really. I’m just not great with heights, you know?” Dean admitted.

“Oh. No, I had no idea. I’m so sorry. I can help. If you need. Hold the ladder. Go up the ladder, you can direct me on what to do.” Castiel realized he would gladly do anything to not see that pained look on Dean’s face again, and was rewarded with a dazzling smile.

“Yeah? You know, that would be awesome. It’s a big job for just one person anyway, and we could go through the timings I’ve worked out at the same time.”

“Great.” Castiel was enraptured, transfixed by the beam of Dean’s smiling eyes, grinning stupidly back at him. 

Dean’s cell phone pinged with a notification breaking the moment. He lifted it from the lighting desk and glanced at the screen. “Sammy. Says that Meg wants to talk to everyone before we leave.”

Castiel focussed. “Oh, yes. That’s what I came to tell you.”

Dean nodded and began carefully setting the lighting plans in order before standing up. The lighting box wasn’t particularly big and suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller to Castiel, with Dean’s pleasantly broad form filling it.

“C’mon,” he gestured for Castiel to follow him out.

They walked through the seats to the front of the theater where all the cast and crew were assembled and Meg arched one eyebrow at Castiel, noting their arrival.

“Ahem! I think this is everyone now. So, I just wanted to say a quick thank you for all your work so far. We’ve made a really good start this term. However, I need you all to go through your parts over the break. Get those lines memorized! It doesn’t need to be perfect, you’ve got the month over Christmas and New Year’s for that, but at least learn your stage cues!”

There was a general muttering from the cast and Meg held up her hand for quiet.

“Also, I know most of you are heading off to be with family for Thanksgiving, but I think there’s a fair number of us who will be staying on campus— or close by,” she gave Castiel and acknowledging nod, “and I would like to extend an invitation to all of you who are, to spend Thanksgiving together. It won’t be a big party or anything, just my housemate and me, Castiel, a few other friends. It’s a potluck and the food is usually pretty good.” She allowed one of her rare smiles to show. “So yeah, if you’re around, it would be great if you want to join us. And everyone else, I will see you on the first Tuesday back at five pm sharp! Have a good break.”

There was a hum of happy voices and general gathering of people and belongings as everyone began to leave.

Sam bounded over to talk to Dean, and Castiel marvelled at the brothers. Not entirely alike, but the resemblance was clear once you were looking for it. He’d always liked Sam Winchester, an intelligent, hard working young man, and he couldn’t help feeling that Dean had probably had a hand in helping to shape that personality.

“Dean, can we go to the party?! I can do the cheesy mash and you can make pie. Please, Dean. I think Jess is gonna be there, and—”

“Woah, woah, Sammy!” Dean cut him off, “Yes, we can go. Of course, we can go, not like we gotta be anywhere else. But keep your hair on, okay?”

Sam beamed at Dean and then seemed to notice Castiel.

“Oh, hey Castiel. I guess we’ll see you for Thanksgiving. Er, and nice going with the Poet, er, I guess.” Sam gave him a wolfish smile that was both confusing and alarming, before turning back to Dean. “Dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure Sammy, dinner tomorrow, see ya.” 

Dean replied rather tightly, Castiel thought. What was going on? Why was Dean pissed at Sam, or was it something else? He’d seemed pretty upbeat until Sam had made the poet comment. Why would Dean be annoyed about that? Surely he hadn’t read the poems, but if he had… Was Dean jealous?

Castiel couldn’t help but be a little pleased by the idea. 

“Er, I guess I’ll see you on Thursday then.” Dean didn’t look at him as he stood up and shrugged on his canvas jacket. In fact, he seemed to be looking everywhere but at Castiel.

Castiel reached out and touched his sleeve, brushing his fingers over it cautiously as he replied. “I look forward to it.”

Dean glanced up at him, green eyes sparkling with something unreadable for a second, before he nodded, turned from Castiel and walked away.

Very interesting indeed.

Castiel collected the script with Meg’s notes from her, said his goodbyes and headed out of the theater for home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ho ho! What exactly did Dean write?!   
Feel free to speculate in the comments below XD
> 
> Otherwise, you'll just have to wait and see until Thursday!


	10. Thursday 21st November (Later) - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first distinctly NSFW chapter. Unless you work somewhere very interesting. If that's the case: respect, go ahead and enjoy!

Castiel was soaked by the time he got home, wet through to his skin with his hair plastered flat on his forehead and droplets of water dripping from his nose. He certainly didn’t feel worthy of lyrical praise right now, more like a half-drowned kitten: sodden and pathetic. He removed his sodden shoes and socks and peeled off his trench coat, sweater and tee shirt right there in the entryway. Hannah walked out of the kitchen and spotted him shivering in the small pool of water now at his bare feet.

“Castiel! What happened?” Their dark eyes were stern but concerned. “Why are you half-naked?”

“Hello, Hannah. It’s wet outside.”

“Is it? I haven’t been out all day. Began reading the last of the Pulitzer novels, I think it’s the best yet. What time is it anyway?”

Castiel sighed. He envied Hannah being able to sprawl on the sofa reading all day. Not that Hannah ever sprawled, they were far too dignified to consider anything than sitting with an arm propped on the armrest and their back resting on the upright cushions as intended. Castiel thought that he’d maybe once seen them curl their feet up under them on the seat in a particularly indulgent moment, but generally, Hannah believed that sloppy posture made for a sloppy mind. No wonder they were looking at him with so much censure right now.

“It’s almost eight o’clock.” Castiel wrapped his arms around his bare torso, beginning to shiver.

“Shit. Late.” Hannah grabbed their raincoat, carefully avoiding Castiel’s dripping items hung beside it, and began shrugging it on. “Take a shower, make tea, and I left you a portion of casserole.” They raised a hand to Castiel’s cheek in a caring gesture. “I worry about you, Castiel,” Hannah said with their brow furrowed, and then promptly left.

Castiel sighed. He adored both his housemates and was hugely appreciative that Hannah left food for him whenever they cooked, or the way Anna would swoop in to his room covered in paint and enthusiastically regale him with an update on her latest work, but both of them very much had their own lives and were busy most evenings when he got back from campus. Tonight was no exception and Castiel suddenly felt the deep loneliness as surely as he felt the cold. Maybe it was just coming back to the quiet of the house after the hustle and bustle of the theater.

He walked to his room and finished stripping off his wet clothes. Even his damn underwear was damp. He balled it up and threw it in his laundry pile while simultaneously tugging his big fluffy bath towel from its peg behind the door. He took a quick, but deliciously hot shower and wrapped himself in the big towel, before snagging the plate of casserole from the kitchen and returning to his room. He ate sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring blankly at the rivulets of water on his windowpane, still wearing just the towel. Did his mystery poet ever imagine him like this? Lonely, dishevelled, slobbish, weary and dejected? He huffed and walked over to the desk where he set down the now empty dinner plate and retrieved his phone from his messenger bag— fortunately waterproof. He moved back to the bed and opened the browser app.

By all accounts, there was a poem waiting for him and it was probably time to see what it said. It wasn’t the latest post on the thread, but it was still near the top.

_I see you there, think on your words, _  
_Your voice, your lips_  
_ Leaving me breathless_  
_ With anticipation._

_I see you there and dream of more. _   
_ Your talented fingers,_   
_ Writing across my skin,_   
_ Naked in adoration._

_I see you there, in my mind’s eye_   
_ Your planes, your curves_   
_ Rising over me._   
_ Such tantalization._

_I see you there, feel your heat._   
_ You’re inside of me._   
_ I ache for your touch:_   
_ My only salvation._

Castiel was holding his breath, his fingertips brushing over the muscles in his thigh and he felt himself getting hard. He read it again, letting his mind linger on each verse while the fingers on the hand not holding the phone roved over his bare skin. He reached the end and flopped back, letting the phone drop to the bed. His eyes closed and he imagined the Poet spread out beneath him— broad, tanned chest scattered with freckles, muscles taught anticipating Castiel’s touch. Castiel’s hands ran down his own chest and stomach as he imagined feeling the planes of the man’s body, warm and firm under his palms. His breathing stuttered when he reached his erection and he stroked down the length running the words of the poem over in his mind.

_I ache for your touch._

Castiel ached. Ached for connection. Ached for affection. Ached to touch and be touched. To love and be loved. Could the Poet give him that? Did he even want that? Did he want Dean to give him that? Could Dean give him that? He pushed the thoughts aside and wrapped his hand fully around his dick pulling slowly up as he forced himself to feel rather than think.

The poet was beneath him, hard, hot and taught with want. Castiel fished the bottle of Astroglide from his bedside drawer and squeezed some over his hand. He pushed into his freshly slick palm and sighed with the sensation. While he settled into a lazy rhythm of thrusts and strokes he let his other hand roam, visualizing how he would run his fingers over the Poet’s nipples, tracing the galaxies formed by the random pattern of freckles. He followed every ridge, every curve, from his clavicle down to his abdomen, drew whirls in the soft curl of hair that led from his navel down to his groin, cupped his testes to feel their weight while one finger stroked back towards the Poet’s hole.

Castiel paused to apply more lube before resuming his ministrations. His cock was twitching, insistent, a bead of moisture at the tip. He closed his eyes again, bringing the Poet back to him.

They were both achingly hard, and when Castiel pushed one finger inside him they both sighed with pleasure, already needing more. It had been a while. He was tight and hot. Castiel ran his finger round the taught ring of muscles while moving his finger slowly in and out of his body.

_Your talented fingers_

He switched his position to give himself better access and pushed a second finger inside himself. He imagined how the Poet’s eyes would go wide at the sensation, dazzling him with their green in the semi-darkness. He pushed in further, twisting his hand and increasing the sensation of fullness. He would work the man open while he ran kisses over his shoulders, neck, down his spine. Dean would arch his back, turn his neck to look back at Castiel.

Castiel started to come, hot and hard, his almost forgotten cock pulsing in his fist. He began to thrust in earnest.

“Oh, Dean! Dean! DEEAANNGGGHHHH!”

Fuck. When had that happened? He’d been picturing the Poet and how he’d take the man apart and then without warning Dean had turned and looked over his shoulder as Castiel had thrust into him hard and fast. His cock gave another twitch in his now still and sticky hand.

He needed to think very carefully about the situation. And definitely needed a second shower. Castiel pulled the towel carefully from beneath him, wrapped it back around his waist and headed for the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we made you wait for it... but delayed gratification is good, right?! Castiel certainly enjoyed reading the poem and then some. Think he might need a little while to regroup before he responds. He he he. Next update will be Sunday. Oh, and Anupalaya - you owe us 5 points - Dean didn't technically ask Castiel for anything in that poem, did he? Rather just let his imagination run away with him (Something Castiel seemed pretty happy to get on board with).


	11. November 22nd to 26th

Dean had spent the weekend helping Charlie prep for their next LARPing session, happening the following weekend right after Thanksgiving, making sure all of the equipment was ready to go. They checked that none of the pavillions needed restitching or other maintenance, and drew up a map of where everything would go— including the battlefield and side quest locations in the local park. Despite throwing himself into the work, Dean knew, and more importantly, Charlie knew, that his head wasn’t really in the game. He’d been checking his phone so often that on Saturday afternoon Charlie had finally snapped and taken it away from him altogether. 

“He’ll respond, Dean. And you won’t miss it if he does. Now, we need to get this done!”

The rest of the weekend (and most of Monday) had passed by in a blur. A blur with no response.

As the hours went by and Monday trickled into Tuesday, Dean had started to really worry. 

Benny found him on Tuesday afternoon, sitting at the kitchen table staring into space.

“You eat, Brother?”

Dean blinked and looked down at the plate of lasagne in front of him. Cold, already. It probably wasn’t worth re-heating a second time. “Nope. Not hungry.”

He ignored Benny’s wide-eyed look of concern and moved to the garbage to empty his plate. He might not be hungry, but he wasn’t going to be a shitty roommate and not take care of his own dishes. He rinsed the plate and then put it in the dishwasher. It was pretty empty still so there was no point in running it. Just like there was no point in forcing himself to eat when that clearly wasn’t going to happen. He turned to look at Benny, and saw the conversation waiting there. He’d always gone to Benny in the past, but right now he didn’t really feel like being comforted. Not by food, not by work, and certainly not by Benny. 

“I’ll be in my room,” he said, snagging a bottle of beer from the fridge, walking past Benny and out of the kitchen. He could feel Benny’s worried eyes following him out, but mercifully, his friend didn’t push. 

Dean dropped all pretense of giving a shit when he got to his room, discarding his clothing and wrapping himself up in bed. Cas… or whoever had been answering his poems had always responded within twenty-four, at the latest forty-eight hours. It was going on what, 120 now? Cas had to have read it by now, right? Busy or not, everyone one was talking about it and there was no way to avoid it. This was it. He was done, he’d ruined his chance with Cas. If he’d ever even had one. He snagged his beer and took a few large swallows. He’d done the exact opposite of what he’d wanted to do, and ruined everything because he hadn’t had the balls to just ask Cas out in the first place. 

Maybe Cas had initially been flattered by the praise of his work, explaining why he responded in the first place but was now so thoroughly disgusted by Dean coming on to him that he’d finally put his foot down and wasn’t going to respond again. Was he even sure that Cas was gay? Or Bi? Or interested in men in general? Dean groaned aloud and pulled the blankets over his head in shame. Maybe he’d misunderstood Cas the entire time. Maybe it had been egotistical to pretend he understood the guy at all. 

Or maybe he’d been forcing Cas to respond to him this entire time. Forcing him into interacting with this stalkery-type stranger through the power of peer pressure alone. And now look what he’d done. Gone and made it sexual now that everyone knew who it was about. Why hadn’t he thought about how uncomfortable that would be for Cas? How unforgivable it was for Dean to publicly humiliate someone he claimed to care about. Someone who was trying to do great things only to be pulled down into the gutter with Dean. He was such an asshole, such an entitled, toxic bastard who had now sexually harassed someone and then was upset when they didn’t react the way he expected them to. Oh god. He was one of those guys. Dean felt nauseous and bolted from his bed to the bathroom before he lost his battle to keep the only thing he’d consumed today from making a reappearance. 

When he was sure his body had nothing left to give, he got up, brushed his teeth and then went back to bed, bypassing the beer on his nightstand. Maybe he should quit the play and save Cas the trouble of firing him. Sure he’d be outing himself as the Poet if he did that, but it was nothing more than he deserved. But it would leave the play in a precarious place, and possibly ruin Cas’s chances…so he couldn’t do that. Plus he’d be hard pushed to find other paid work on campus. He needed to finish the job he’d started and get paid. Nope, he’d have to stick it out and come clean to Cas and apologize after the play was over, giving Cas the ability to never see him again after that if he didn’t want to.

Friendsgiving was going to be so awkward. Dean snagged his phone off the dresser and checked 300cc again. Nothing. In fact, there had been nothing at all new since last night. It made sense since most people had already left campus for break. But what it also meant was that anything posted on there would stay near the top for a long, long time. His last poem was fourth from the top, unmissable for anyone checking the feed. Ugh.

**Castiel - Thursday, November 28th**

Cas neatly pressed the edges of the crust to the sides of the pie tin. He’d been thinking about how to respond to the last poem all week. Even now thinking about it made him blush, remembering his reaction. The thing was, he didn’t really know how to feel about the Poet and his advances.

It had been a long time since Castiel had been in a relationship with anyone. His last serious boyfriend had been Balthazar back in his senior year. But that had been something of a disaster. Balthazar had always treated him with kid gloves somewhat, knowing that Castiel had been a virgin. He’d been instructional and patient rather than desirous and passionate. Not that there hadn’t been good sex. Only, it had been measured, at Balthazar’s pace, not desperate and possessive like Castiel felt most of the time.

But the Poet wanted him. Had practically invited Castiel to take control of the situation, take control of the sex. It made him feel flushed and then shivery, in rapid succession. It made him feel desirable and powerful. It felt good.

Did it matter who the Poet was? Well, obviously it mattered, but Castiel didn’t think it was someone he couldn’t find attractive. He knew they were intelligent, creative and passionate. He was also fairly sure they were either directly involved with the play, or at least associated with it, and there was no one (well, possibly Lucifer, who had thankfully disassociated himself from it) involved with the production who he didn't like. Although he really hoped it wasn’t a freshman. Not only would the age difference be awkward but he might even have taught them, which would put any sort of romantic relationship out of the question.

And yes, it was true he was becoming increasingly attracted to Dean, that was quite clear, but he had no idea if Dean was particular about gender in his sexual or romantic relationships. Maybe he wasn’t even into sexual or romantic relationships. As much Castiel would respect that, he didn’t feel like he could forgo a physical relationship right now and the Poet seemed to be offering him what he hadn’t even known he wanted. Castiel seemed to be in a near-constant state of semi-arousal as of late. Ever since he’d met Dean, if he was being honest.

He set the pie crust in the oven and stirred the gooey mix in the pan on the stovetop. The comforting aroma of maple and butter wafted up and made his mouth water.

Maybe it was okay to pursue them both. It wasn’t as if he had to make a choice after all, they were both very much unknown quantities. He would let himself be friends with Dean, see if that led to anything more, and in the meantime, he’d write a poem in reply and try to work out who his poet might be.

He would obviously have to address the sexual admissions made in the last poem, especially now that Castiel had decided that, despite having no idea who this body was that was offering itself up to him, he wanted to claim it. He was ready to unleash his desire if the Poet was willing to accept him. He was proud of who he was, what he felt, both in terms of his intellect and his sexuality. If someone else found that attractive then he was more than willing to see where that attraction might take them both.

He sat at the table deep in thought until the kitchen timer pinged, signaling that the initial bake was complete and he pulled the pie dish from the oven with a red silicone mitt. He’d let it cool before he began assembling the pie proper. He loved pecan pie, would spend hours (almost literally) arranging the nuts in an elegant spiral on top of the sweet sticky filling before it baked. He liked to lay the pecans the opposite way most people did, choosing to set them on what he thought of as their backs. They looked like a spiral of little angels looking up at him. It made him think of his namesake, and of the character Celeste whom he’d poured himself into.

He walked to his room and sat down at his desk, reaching for his notebook and a pen. He tried out a few lines but quickly crossed them out. He found it hard to be openly suggestive in his language. He’d never been very good at flirting in person, and even the courtship between Celeste and Diana that he’d written took place more through their physical language than their dialogue. Thankfully Meg was all too good at interpreting his rather lacking stage directions. 

Where to begin? It was so hard not knowing who he was writing for. If it were Dean he’d have a starting point because he could picture his smile, the way it crinkled the corner of eyes and made the constellations of freckles stand out across the bridge of his nose. But this? This was uncharted territory for Castiel. It felt like he’d been thrust into a jungle, or desert to explore a terrain that was both exciting and terrifying in equal measures. 

Huh. 

He began to write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Dean, always doubting yourself!
> 
> See what Cas means when he says that [pecans on their backs look like little angels??](https://www.realfoodsource.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/Jumbo-Pecans.jpg)
> 
> What will Cas write back?
> 
> Sorry, no poem this week - but guess what? Next chapter is Friendsgiving!<3


	12. Thursday, November 28th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both LanaSerra and I have busy days ahead so you are getting an early morning chapter post today (well, by PST anyway!).
> 
> Welcome to Friendsgiving! Hope you enjoy the festivities.

Dean had spent the last two days in bed. He just couldn’t bring himself to give enough of a shit to do anything else. It didn’t even come as a surprise when he heard Charlie banging on his door. Benny, the traitor, must have let her in.

“Dean! Get up right this minute and open the door before I’m forced to bust it down!” Charlie shouted through the wood.

As if. The girl was 100 pounds soaking wet. He wouldn’t put it past her to get Benny involved though or even to get tools and remove the door entirely. That would be inconvenient. He’d seen her taking apart hard drives so knew she could more than handle a screwdriver. Plus he also knew she was scarily accurate throwing a hatchet. He sighed as she banged her fist on his door again.

“Go away, Charlie.”

“Handmaiden! Get your sorry ass up right now! Your queen commands you.”

Well fuck. Dean finally pushed himself up and out of bed, unlocking his door before she threw it open in his face.

All the fire and bluster faltered momentarily as she took in the sight of him. He must look pretty bad, then. Dean shrugged and moved back to his bed.

“Oh no you don’t! You, Mister, need to get in the shower and get ready for Friendsgiving!”

“I’m not goin’, Charlie,” he said, sitting down.

“And what, not be with your brother today?” Charlie wheedled, but Dean wasn’t having it.

“He doesn’t care. He just wants to spend time with Jessica anyways.”

“That’s not true! That boy lives for your approval and your love. Don’t you fail to be there for him just because you’ve worked yourself into a state. An unnecessary one, might I add.”

“But Charlie!”

“No! Don’t ‘but Charlie’ me. I know you, Dean, and you’ve probably been thinking the most horrid shit about yourself and it’s just not necessary. Now go have a shower, then we will get you something to eat, and THEN we can talk about it before we head out.”

“You know Friendsgiving is about food, right?”

“Yes, Dean. But if you think I’m going to put up with this hangry, smelly version of you while we discuss it, you have another thing coming,” she said, ripping the comforter off his bed. “Get going!”

Dean sighed and gave in. There was really no fighting with her. Fifteen minutes later Dean came downstairs, showered and dressed but not shaved, to find Charlie sitting on one side of their kitchen table, and a bowl of soup on the other. She was grinning. That was not a good sign.

“What?”

“I’ll tell you once you’ve had some soup.”

“I’m not hungry, Charlie.”

“You will be when you hear what I have to say.”

“Then just tell me!”

“No. Eat at least half and then I will tell you.” She looked unreasonably smug.

Dean grumbled and sat down, mechanically moving the spoon from the bowl to his mouth. “I’m not really in the mood for games.”

“That’s good. 'Cause this isn’t a game.” She glanced down at the bowl and then back up at Dean. He’d managed to put away three-quarters of it without really noticing. “He responded.”

“WHAT?!” Had he heard her right?

“He responded,” Charlie confirmed.

Dean’s eyes went wide and he dropped his spoon, splashing soup onto the table. He reached for his phone but realized he hadn’t seen it when he’d gotten out of the shower. Charlie must have taken it. Must have checked while he was in there. And now knew what he needed to know with every breath he’d had since last Thursday.

“You knew he posted and you didn’t say anything?! Give me my phone, Charlie! NOW!”

Charlie handed over his phone, already open to the 300cc page. He’d have to talk to her about hacking into his cell another day.

“You needed to eat,” she said simply and smiled.

There it was at the top of the page.

  
_To boldly go, explore the expanse.  
Obliterate who came before.  
Plant my flag, flying proud.  
Slowly gaining ground  
Until it lies spread out beneath me.  
No name, no identity.  
And yet this land is mine  
Given freely. I will find the wood amidst the trees._

Dean couldn’t breathe. He read it again and again before looking up at Charlie who was grinning at him.

“He responded,” he whispered, almost reverently.

“He did,” Charlie confirmed.

“And he wants to…”

“Have sex with you? Yup. Possess you? Most likely.” Charlie’s grin turned feral.

Dean blushed to the roots of his hair. He was not going to go into his sexual preferences right now. “And he’s..”

“Gay as a maypole. You’d better believe it.”

Dean couldn’t believe it. He’d spent all this time thinking he’d definitely ruined his chances with Cas, only to find Cas had not been disgusted by him at all but rather turned on by what he had said? That Cas not only wanted to continue talking to him but wanted to fuck him as well? His entire world view had turned upside down in a moment. Gravity losing its hold on the earth would have surprised him less. He read the poem again and his dick twitched in his pants. He was definitely into it.

“We need to get going, Dean,” Charlie said an indeterminate amount of time later. Who knew how long he’d been staring at the poem.

“Going?” His brain was still caught up in the words on the screen.

“Yeah, dude, to Friendsgiving.”

Oh shit.

And here he had been contemplating going back upstairs to jack off to this poem. (Did that make him a creeper still?) And now he had to go to Friendsgiving while in this semi-state of arousal and spend time with Cas as if they hadn’t just written raunchy poetry to each other? If the universe hadn’t seen fit to swallow him whole a few days ago, it certainly wasn’t about to now.

“But we don’t have anything to bring,” he finally said.

“That’s the excuse you decided on?” Charlie said raising an eyebrow. “I have tuna casserole and a bakery-fresh pie in a cooler in my car.”

He really loved Charlie sometimes.

“Get moving, Handmaiden. You can daydream about Cas while I drive.”

“Who said you get to drive?!”

“I did. You haven’t seen the sun in days, haven’t eaten except for a single bowl of soup, and just had your world view rocked. Not to mention the fact that I’m sure you’d rather focus on how you’re going to woo Cas in person rather than getting frustrated with how slow traffic is?”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

***

A half-hour later, Dean and Charlie stood on the doorstep of the house Meg was renting. They rang the bell and waited, hearing the sounds of loud conversation through the door. Meg opened the door wide and leered at Dean before turning to Charlie.

“Dean, Charlie. Come in!”

Dean wasn’t sure what that was about (a traitorous part of his brain said she knew he was the Poet), but also didn’t want to find out, so he nodded his thanks and stepped inside. His goofy sasquatch of a brother was first to greet him— getting up from his place at the table to give him a hug. The table was filled with mostly friendly faces, and a few he didn’t think he’d met. Jessica, Eileen, Balthazar, a girl he hadn’t met that he assumed was Meg’s roommate, and a mullet-wearing, scruffy-looking dude he was pretty sure matched Charlie’s descriptions of her friend, Ash, and of course, Castiel.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean!” Sam said excitedly.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Sammy,” Dean said, smiling into his brother’s embrace.

Sam pulled away with a frown. “I told you, it’s Sam!”

“Whatever, Bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam said and then grinned. “Come sit down!”

Dean looked back to the table and was momentarily lost in Cas’s eyes. It took Charlie bumping into him to take a seat at the table beside the man he suspected was Ash and giving him a pointed look, before he moved to follow.

“Hey, everyone,” he said and sat down next to her in the only remaining chair, directly across from Cas.

“Hi, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said with a confident smile.

Dean could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Cas’s smile was radiant. Was this what Cas was like when he was not stressed? Dean eyed the glass of wine in his hand. Or was it because he was drinking? Or did this openness have to do with the poem? He could only dare to hope.

Dean was torn from his musings, and from Castiel’s eyes, by Meg’s loud clapping.

“Hello everyone! Welcome and all that shit.” Meg stood at the head of the table. “A quick round of introductions from everyone and then we can eat. Everyone say your name, your major and what delightful thing you brought for us to partake in. Clarence, you first.” She turned and looked pointedly at Cas.

“Despite Meg’s complete disregard for my preferences, my name is not, in fact, Clarence, it is Castiel. I’m a PhD student, literature and creative writing with a focus on writing for performance. Free Will is my thesis project, and I made my favorite pecan pie for you all.”

Shit, was he looking significantly at Dean? Dean couldn’t tell. But the fact that Cas had made pie, was almost too much. Cas coughed, refocusing Dean on the events beyond the two of them. “You’re next, Dean.”

Dean flushed and hoped his ears weren’t bright red. “Uh. Hey. I’m Dean. I’m an Engineering major, electrical engineering specifically, but mechanical engineering is cool too. That’s my little brother, Sammy.” He pointed at Sam who scoffed loudly. “And I, uh, brought store-bought apple pie… cause I…” thought I’d blown it with Cas and was too depressed to bake. “I ran out of time to make my mother’s apple pie, so I owe you guys that one next time.”

“And I’m Charlie, but you can call me Your Majesty, if you prefer. Computer science major. And actually, I bought the pie, Dean.” She glared at him.

“Traitor,” Dean muttered.

“Can’t let you steal my thunder, Handmaiden. I also brought tuna casserole, which I did make myself because I’m amazing!”

Quite a few people exchanged looks and mouthed “Handmaiden?” to each other. Dean only really took in Cas’s curious look. “I’m not too proud to take orders.” He grinned wolfishly and was rewarded with a look of intrigue from Cas. “We do Live Action Role Playing. She’s the queen, and I’m her right hand… person.”

“Oh-kay.” Meg gave them both a rather withering look. “Moving on.”

“Dudes and dudetts!” mullet-wearing guy announced. “I’m Ash. Computer science major. I brought deviled eggs and special brownies.”

Charlie made a noise of disbelief. “Computer science major my ass. You’re just killing time slumming here with us until you head to MIT. You’re lucky they like you so much, anyone else who told them 'I’m busy right now, call back later, okay?' would be disqualified on the spot.”

Ash shrugged, smiled and gave no explanation.

“Hey everyone. I’m Sam, Dean’s brother. I’m working on my BA in Political Science, but I actually want to go into law. I brought a garden salad with a raspberry vinaigrette.”

“You would.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Well we all can’t live off of hamburgers and pie, Dean,” Sam retorted before turning to the girl next to him.

“Hi, I’m Jessica.” She flushed prettily under Sam’s gaze. “I’m pre-med. I made garlic mashed potatoes.”

“Ahhh A woman after my own heart.” Dean teased. Sam sent him bitch face #5, at the exact same moment that Meg glared at him. He should probably shut up before he completely embarrassed himself in front of Cas. God, he needed something to drink.

“Hi,” Eileen said with a wave, signing as she spoke. “My name is Eileen. Thank you for inviting me. I am a masters student studying Ancient History, with a focus on medieval myths and legends. I brought beer!”

There was a general cheer from everyone assembled, and lots of people signing their thanks.

“Well, my family is, Irish!” she joked.

Balthazar sat next to her and grinned broadly. “I don’t know where you find them, Meg, darling. But you always seem to get the best people.” His starchy British accent seemed exceptionally out of place at an American Thanksgiving meal. “I’m Balthazar and, contrary to popular opinion, I am American. I was just taught to speak properly!” He laughed at his own joke. “Just like the Bard, one of the many greats I explore in my PhD in Performance Studies. I am the literal definition of a Drama Queen, darling!” he gushed, winking at both Castiel and Meg. “That’s one of the reasons I became involved in Cassie’s play.”

“Ugh. We don’t need your entire backstory Balth. Get on with it,” Meg interrupted while Cas scowled.

Balthazar made a face but continued as if he had never been criticised. “And I brought the turkey, because someone had to uphold tradition.”

“Hi, my name is Dorothy, I’m Meg’s roommate. And contrary to what some people believe is traditional, I made a glazed spiral ham.” She glared at Balthazar, who playfully stuck his tongue out at her in response. “I’m also a PhD student, studying Philosophy in Cinema and Media Studies. My thesis is “Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead: Homosexual Repression and Male Sexuality in The Wizard of Oz. And yes, I am named after that Dorothy.”

Dean discretely kicked Charlie under the table. She was staring at Dorothy as if she was a fairytale brought to life, some fantastical rainbow unicorn and the most delicious meal she had ever seen. Charlie shot him a look, but her face was still flushed so it didn’t quite have the power it usually did. Dean grinned.

“Well fuck you both,” Meg said, “because I’m vegetarian. I made three bean casserole and pasta salad because I knew you Neanderthals would only bring flesh.”

“Hey!” Sam complained.

“Except for Sam…and Eileen. Er, Jessica too. Oh, and I do eat eggs, as Ash knows. And Dean, no wait, his pie was really Charlie’s. Whatever. Ugh, for fuck sake. Clarence too. Never mind. Let’s eat already!”

Plates and food were passed around until everyone had taken a serving of everything they wanted. And for the first time since they arrived, everyone was quiet, happily enjoying their food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He he he, awkward much? Especially with _that_ poem fresh in Dean’s mind. And the evening has only just begun!!


	13. Thursday, November 28th, Thanksgiving - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! Ready for more Friendsgiving? Yes? Good. Let's see what Cas thinks about the goings on, shall we?!

Dean was squashed delightfully close to Castiel on the large sofa with Charlie sat on his other side and then Dorothy. Castiel was sure it was only a three-seater but the distracting warmth radiating from Dean’s thigh to his own made it very hard to think too deeply about anything else.

“You’re actually going to make us play charades?” Sam asked from his place on the other sofa, sandwiched between Jessica and Eileen with Ash on the end.

“Um, actors?!” Meg gestured at the assembled group, “don’t want you to lose your craft during the break”.

“I’m not,” Charlie protested.

“Ahem, live-action role play?” Meg countered, “I think we can include you and Dean among our numbers.”

“Then what about me?” Castiel definitely didn’t, and couldn’t, act. He found it hard enough to know how to play himself some days.

“Oh, Cassie! You write for us, you work with us, you’re friends with us, you’ve slept with one of us…” 

Castiel didn’t think he was imagining the sudden tension in Dean.

“Anyway, it’s not actually charades,” Meg clarified, “it’s _like_ charades.”

“Explain yourself, Meg.”

“Everyone writes five names, places or things on separate pieces of paper. All of the papers go in the bag. We separate into two teams. One at a time, each team member has to get up and draw a piece of paper to work with, every time their team guesses correctly they can pick out another piece. When a minute is up, how ever many things or whatever that the team got right counts as a point to them, and then we switch to the other team. Once all of the pieces of paper have been used and counted we move on to the next round. The first round you can use any words or actions you want, except for those on the paper. The second round you can only use two words to describe what’s on the paper, and the third round is entirely mimed.” Meg explained before narrowing her eyes and pointing at all of them threateningly. “It is in your best interest to _pay attention_ to all the answers as you’ll have to guess them multiple times.”

Some of the guests scowled, but most nodded their heads excitedly.

“Good. Any questions?”

“How do we decide teams?”

“How about that couch,” she said pointing to the couch Dean, Cas, Charlie, and Dorothy were sitting on, “against that couch” pointing to the one where Sam, Jessica, Eileen and Ash were sitting. 

“And where do we fit in, darling?” Balthazar purred from his chair. 

“You join Clarence’s team and I’ll join Sam’s”

“Hey! You just want to be on the same team as Ash!” Charlie complained.

“Yes, I do. Because I want to _win_,” Meg smirked. 

After a suitable amount of grumbling, everyone got to work writing out their five things. Ten minutes later, Meg had collected everything and was shuffling the scraps of paper into a bag. “My house, so my team goes first!” Meg declared.

“Excuse me, I live here too, Meg!” Dorothy scowled. 

Meg continued on as if she hadn’t heard her roommate. “Clarence, will you set a timer on your phone?”

Castiel sighed and dug out his phone, brushing his hand against Dean’s side in the process. He forced himself not to glance at Dean to see his reaction. He set the timer for one minute. “Go.”

Meg pulled a piece of paper from the bag and read it quickly. “Ugh, whoever wrote this is dull. Large rabbit. Gives chocolate eggs.”

“Easter Bunny!” Jessica and Sam shouted simultaneously.

Meg dropped the paper and grabbed the next one. “Set of written instructions for actors to follow.”

“Script!” Eileen said.

Meg gestured frantically with her hands for Eileen to expand her guessing.

“Er, lines! Dialogue,” Sam threw into the mix.

“Stage directions!” Eileen followed up with.

Meg nodded pointing at Eileen while reaching in for the next word.

“Oh fuck you, Clarence. This is one of your obscure poets isn’t it?”

Castiel tried to remember what he’d written. “Obscure?! He was the British poet laureate for—”

A large warm hand was summarily clamped over his mouth, and Dean was suddenly deliciously close.

“Cas!! Don’t help her!”

Castiel swallowed hard, and Dean seemed to realize what he was doing, removing his hand but not without his pinkie catching Castiel’s lower lip as he did so. 

Their gazes locked.

“Oh, Ted Hughes?” Ash asked.

It broke the tension mounting between them. 

“See,” Charlie complained, pulling Dean’s attention away. “Ash knows _everything_.”

“I don’t know, _everything_, just most things.” Ash shrugged modestly. “But he was married to Sylvia Plath who is a poetic goddess…so yeah.”

The alarm on Castiel’s phone sounded, signalling the end of Meg’s turn.

“Time’s up. How many, Meg?” 

“You know as well as I do that it was two, smartass. I’d like to see you do better.”

“Fine, I will,” Castiel said, standing up. As much as he wanted to continue being in Dean’s personal space, it was probably better for everyone that he move. Also, he was going to win this for the team. “Will you set my timer again please, Dean?” he asked, placing his phone into Dean’s waiting hands. Their fingers brushed once again sending a zing of awareness up Castiel’s arm.

“Alright, Cas. Ready? Go!” Dean set the phone down to give Castiel his full attention.

Castiel grabbed a piece of paper, read it and looked up into Dean’s eyes. “What Celeste showed Diana in the barn.”

“Wings.” Dean grinned.

Castiel smiled and grabbed another piece of paper. “University classes that aren’t lectures.”

“Seminars?”

“Labs?” 

Dorothy and Charlie answered simultaneously.

“Yes, Dorothy.” Castiel dropped the paper in his hands and pulled out another. He raised his eyebrow at Meg. “Magical horned horse.”

“Unicorn!” Balthazar shouted. 

Castiel dropped that paper as well. He pulled another one only to stall. His mind raced, who was this? “I don’t know what this is.”

“Try and describe it, maybe?” Dorothy suggested helpfully.

How could he describe something when he didn’t know what it was? Think, Castiel! “Umm… well, the first word is a short name for Charles. And then the name of Filch’s Cat.”

Everyone on his team looked at him blankly, before Dean started laughing.

“It’s not a What, it’s a Who! Chuck Norris!” 

Castiel nodded and smiled. 

“We really have to work on your pop culture there, buddy.” Dean sent him a soft smile. 

Charlie smacked Dean on the shoulder. “At least he knows his Harry Potter! You’re doing great, Cas. Grab another one!” Charlie cheered and made ‘hurry up’ motions with her hands.

Castiel blushed. The sound of Dean laughing was intoxicating. He quickly read the next one. Okay another unknown quantity, but he could do this. “This is a type of car, I think. Like a deer, but—”

He didn’t even get to finish his statement before Dean shouted, “67 Chevy Impala!” quickly followed by the beeping of the timer being up. His team all applauded and Castiel returned to his seat beside Dean. 

“We’re lucky you picked mine out of the bag, hey, Cas!”

The game went on with a considerable amount of jeering and squabbling. Castiel marvelled at how much everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Balthazar was right, Meg _did_ know how to pick them. He found himself sniping and laughing along in a relaxed way that he hadn’t felt in months, comfortable within himself as much as the people around him. His friends. Dean was his friend. And it was his turn to give clues which meant Castiel had carte blanche to give Dean his undivided attention for a full minute without it raising any suspicions.

“Boy wizard.” 

Dean rattled off the first clue and Charlie yelled out “Harry Potter!” so fast that it sounded more like Hairy Otter.

“This is the holiday that commemorates veterans.” 

“Memorial Day.” Dorothy was no less quick than Charlie had been.

“Oh, Avenger, Tony Stark.” 

“Iron Man. Of course.” Charlie was on a roll.

But then Dean froze. “Um, this is the someone who has been writing verse to someone else on 300cc.”

Castiel’s eyes locked on to Dean’s.

“The Poet!” Dorothy exclaimed at the same time Balthazar shouted “Castiel!”

“Er, yeah, now put Balthazar’s answer together with the thing that they solve on Scooby-Doo, and then stick Dorothy’s answer on the end.” Dean looked pained, still not looking away from Castiel.

“My mystery poet,” Castiel said quietly.

“You need to say the exact words for it to count, Cas,” Dean mumbled apologetically. 

“Castiel’s Mystery Poet,” he repeated with more clarity.

Dean nodded and dropped the paper, his eyes following it to the floor. The timer went off. 

“So they really are intended for you?” Dorothy asked Castiel gently.

“I believe so.”

“Course they are! Who wouldn’t want to write Cassie sexy love poems?” Balthazar winked at Castiel.

“Did you write them, Balthazar?” Castiel took the opportunity to ask his ex.

“Wish I could say yes, but you know me. No patience for writing. Acting is my true calling.”

Castiel nodded, surprised that he was relieved to hear it wasn’t Balthazar.

“So, if you know they are intended for you, presumably it’s you who has been writing the responses,” Eileen asked him, signing the question along with the spoken words.

“They’ve been quite compelling.” Castiel decided it was better not to confirm or deny the question. “A back and forth in verse certainly makes for entertaining reading.”

“Web traffic to the 300cc page has increased by four-hundred and twenty-eight per cent over the past two weeks,” Charlie chimed in.

“Well, I think your replies have certainly been more classy than the ones sent to you, Castiel,” Jessica said, “the mystery poet certainly isn’t subtle.”

“Do you think the mystery poet needs to be subtle? If they know what they want and are willing to go for it in such a public fashion?” Charlie asked. 

“I like his measure,” Castiel mused, “the poems are raw, honest. But they’re very technical. I think he has talent.”

“So you believe your mystery poet is male then?” Sam asked curiously.

“I’m quite certain of it.”

“Oh?” Dorothy asked, “what makes you say that? What part of the Poet’s style gives the impression of masculinity to you?”

Castiel reviewed all of the poems in his head. Nothing in them specifically spoke to the gender of the author. He flushed. He knew why he thought the author was male. It was because he had pictured replying to Dean. “I guess…there isn’t a specific reason. Just my own personal bias?” he admitted to Dorothy. “But you are right. It could be anyone.”

There was a horribly awkward silence, where Castiel looked around the room. The odds were actually rather high that his poet was here, right now. He knew it was someone connected with the play, which narrowed it down to fifty or so people, and then he also knew that the person who wrote the last poem was on campus when other people had already left for the holidays since they posted on a KCU server. Seven of those people were in this room. He could rule out Charlie and Dorothy, both of whom he knew had no interest in sexual relationships with men. He knew it wasn’t Meg. They’d had fun making out that one time when they’d both been high, but afterwards had agreed it hadn’t been anything more than a moment. Balthazar had already denied that he was the Poet. So that left Sam, Jess, Eileen and Dean. He looked up at Dean to see the man staring back at him. 

Both the look and Castiel’s thought process were cut short by several sharp blasts from the doorbell.

“Yay! Max and Alicia made it!” Meg jumped up off the opposite sofa and went to answer the door.

A few of the others also got up to greet the new arrivals, but Dean just came back to sit on the sofa next to Castiel. They sat in silence until everyone came back into the room. 

“You may start the party now that the Banes twins are here!” a good looking man declared to the room at large as he strode in. An equally beautiful woman followed after him, laughing and chatting with Jessica. 

“What do we have here?” the man exclaimed moving over to the couch Castiel and Dean were sitting on. “My my, Meg. Where have you been keeping this boy?”

Dean coughed, flushed and held out his hand. “Dean Winchester. And you are?”

“Max Banes,” the man said, grabbing Dean’s hand in both of his, crouching down to be at Dean’s eye level. “Have I seen you before somewhere?”

“I’m helping out with the electricals… for the play,” Dean stammered and removed his hand. 

“Charming!” Max said with a grin. “I look forward to seeing you more often then!” before turning to face Castiel. “And my dear Castiel. How are you?” he said, taking both of Cas’s hands in his own. 

“I’m fine Max, thank you,” Castiel said, unable to suppress a smile. 

“Are you sure you aren’t over-doing it? Can’t have our writer and leader becoming stressed and overwhelmed!” Max continued.

Castiel removed his hands from Max’s grip. “Don’t let Meg hear you suggesting that anyone else is in charge. However, I can assure you that I am quite well. Your concern is appreciated but unwarranted.”

“Anytime, handsome.” Max grinned and gave him a flirty wink. 

Castiel glanced at Dean. Was the other man flushing because he wasn’t used to attention? No. That wasn’t it. Male attention, maybe? Was he attracted to Max? Or was he jealous of him?

“How is Alicia?” Castiel asked in an attempt to move the conversation forward.

“Oh yes, and my lovely sister Alicia. Come say hi to the delectable Dean Winchester!” Max called over his shoulder.

Alicia smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean. Don’t mind my brother, he’s a terrible flirt,” she beamed at him. 

“It’s uh...no trouble,” Dean responded and shook her hand. “It’s nice to meet you too. And it’s nice to not be the biggest flirt of the group for once!”

Now that was interesting. Castiel had never thought of Dean as a flirt, but then again, maybe Dean didn’t flirt with men. Or maybe Dean just didn't flirt with him. Or did he? Castiel really didn’t think he’d imagined the heat between them earlier when they’d accidentally touched. Sure, he didn’t flirt like Balthazar, or Max, or, god forbid, the Poet, but maybe he had his own way of charming people.

“Shall we get back to the game then?” Meg said over their conversation. “To anyone who hasn’t met the Banes twins— there they are. Max and Alicia. Our teams are even so you have to be on different teams.”

“Aww. That’s no fun,” Max complained.

“You mean no fun for the rest of us if you two get to play together,” Meg said rolling her eyes. “Max, you’re with Clarence’s team, Alicia with mine.”

“Actually, I’m good. Why doesn’t Max take my seat?” Dean said quickly. “I’m thirsty. Who wants something?”

“Yes, something to drink sounds like an excellent idea.” Castiel stood up along with Dean. “I’ll help, and the twins can take our spots and be on a team together.”

Dean looked shocked for a moment before breaking out the most beautiful smile Castiel had ever seen. 

“I’ll take a beer,” Sam said, “thanks Dean, Castiel.”

“White wine?” Jess asked at the same time Charlie said, “Surprise me with something tasty!”

“What do I look like, a bartender, Charlie?”

“Well, you _did_ offer. I don’t care how _long_ it takes. Make me something good,” Charlie told Dean.

“Right. Okay. Will do. Anyone else?” Dean looked around in question. 

“Beer for me, please,” Eileen signed and said. 

“Of course,” Castiel responded, “no problem, Eileen.”

“Beer!” Ash requested at the same time the Banes twins and Balthazar called out “Wine!”

“We’re going to actually need paper here in a sec,” Dean mused as Dorothy and Meg put their drink orders in too. 

“I believe in you,” Castiel said quietly, moving towards the kitchen, leaving Dean floundering behind him. 

“Wha…?”

“If you can memorize electrical grids, I’m sure you can keep ten drink orders in your head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will Dean keep all the drink orders straight? Will Cas ever figure out that Dean isn't (straight)?
> 
> Be sure to watch out for the conclusion of Friendsgiving on Sunday!!


	14. Thursday, November 28 - Dean

Dean was completely overwhelmed. He was overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness from all the food (including three servings of pie) that he’d eaten, he was overwhelmed by the noise and commotion of the game going on in the living room, but mostly he was overwhelmed by the continued proximity to Cas. Cas being relaxed, chatty, making jokes, jibing with Meg and Balthazar, smiling contentedly as he basked in the congenial atmosphere.

Cas had always been attractive. Dean had been drawn in by his energy and his intelligence from their first meeting, not to mention that riot of hair that perennially looked like Cas had just rolled out of bed, or that twinkle in his too-blue eyes that Dean found himself drowning in an awful lot of the time. But here, in this setting, Cas was radiant. It almost hurt Dean to look at him. It was like staring into the sun, and now when he closed his eyes a vision of Cas in all his glory was burned into Dean’s retina.

Dean was so distracted that he missed what Cas said as they entered the kitchen together. 

“Uh, sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said, I’m glad you decided to join us for Friendsgiving.”

“Oh. Well. I was happy to be invited,” Dean said, lamely. “Plus, you know. Pie.”

“You did seem to enjoy your slice of pecan, enough to go back for seconds, at least.”

“Damn, Cas. It was divine! Never mind poetry, you could steal someone’s heart with your pie recipe alone!”

Cas flushed. “Thank you, Dean, but I don’t think I could make the recipe work in only 300 characters. Your pie was…”

“Store-bought. I know, my bad. You’ll have to try my homemade one sometime. I’ll bake it for you!” 

“I would like that.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, and then another moment.

“So…” Dean fidgeted. “Are you saying that you _are_ the second poet then?”

Cas didn’t reply immediately. When he did, Dean was not expecting the answer he got.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier.”

“What? When?” Dean searched Cas’s face but all he found was worry. Surely he didn’t mean when they’d touched earlier. Dean hadn’t felt uncomfortable, he’d felt electrified, and embarrassingly turned on by such an insignificant amount of contact. “You didn’t make me feel uncomfortable at all, Cas.”

“With my preference for the Poet to be male.”

“Oh.” Dean flushed and then smiled. “That didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Dean felt the sigh of relief wash over him. 

“I mean, I am entirely indifferent to gender in general. I am attracted to a personality, rather than what sex a person is. Only, I have a mental image of the Poet that I’ve grown, shall we say, attached to.”

Suddenly the relief turned into nervous excitement, as Cas met and held his gaze once again. Dean was certain he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.

“You have someone you’d kinda like it to be?” Dean asked.

“Yes. Well, no. I’m sure I’ll like whoever it is. He, she, they, whomever. They are clearly involved in the play, clever, and probably well-read, not to mention that they are obviously attracted to me, so what wouldn’t be to like,” Cas admitted.

Dean forgot to breathe. “Yeah,” he finally choked out, “those are all great points.” His mind was already buzzing about ensuring he mentioned his gender in the next poem. Would there be a next poem?

“I’m happy for you, Cas. Not everyone would react as positively to a secret admirer,” Dean said, “and I have to admit to really enjoying reading your replies.” 

Cas colored prettily. “Thank you, Dean. I quite enjoy writing them.”

Dean tried not to gape like a fish while all his dreams came true in front of him. Not only had he learned that Cas knew the poems were for him, but also that he had been the one replying all along. It was more than he’d dared to hope for. Although it was, in fact, _exactly_ what he’d hoped for. He just wasn’t quite sure what to do next. If he admitted to being the other poet in this moment, Cas might not believe him. But if he didn’t say anything and Cas found out later, he might be angry knowing that Dean had chosen not to tell him.

Fortunately, his internal debate was interrupted by none other than his darling younger brother.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam walked into the kitchen. He stopped when he noticed the two of them standing fairly close without a beer can or wine glass in sight. “You know what, never mind.”

Sam walked back out, but his interruption had effectively killed the conversation. Dean moved to the fridge and started pulling out bottles of beer and white wine. “Can you grab some wine glasses, Cas?”

Cas hesitated for a moment, before replying. “Of course, Dean.” He moved to get them from the cabinet. 

In no time at all they had prepared everyone’s drink, including Charlie’s wherein Dean had mixed spiced rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, grenadine and sprite. It tasted like candy. 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, with Cas’s warmth seeping into his side all night. No matter what game they played or conversations they had, Cas always seemed to return to his side. Dean couldn’t help but feel bolstered by this action, especially every time Balthazar or Max flirted with Cas. Or with him for that matter.

Sam, Jess and Ash left first, Sam gave him a tight hug and instructed him to call the next day. Dean gave Sam his word that he would before the big sasquatch would let him go. Eileen left next, Balthazar invited the twins to his place for a nightcap and they left in one large dramatic exit. Charlie pulled Dean aside and told him she was too drunk to drive. 

“No worries, Charles, I’ve only had a few beers spread over the evening. I’m happy to play chauffeur, even if it is in that yellow monstrosity you call a car,” he told her, “I’ll get you home safe.”

“Don’t diss the Bug, Dean!” Charlie giggled and pushed her keys into his hand. “But I wasn’t talking about me, I’m staying here. With Dorothy.” She grinned and gave him an overly exaggerated wink. “You need to give Cas a ride home, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Good lord, that was practically giving him carte blanche. Charlie generally got exactly what, and who she wanted. Dorothy seemed to be case in point.

“Er—”

“Dean, it’s pouring with rain. Drive him home.”

Dean sighed, he wasn’t going to win this argument with Charlie, not that he really wanted to anyhow. Getting to spend any additional time alone with Cas was something he was never gonna refuse. “Com’ere,” he opened his arms to her and Charlie stepped into his hug. “Thank you, Charlie. Call me tomorrow?” She nodded and he walked out of the living room, grabbing his leather jacket from the hook on the wall in the hall and shrugging it on as he did so. Most of the remaining party guests were already out there, in various states of outerwear.

“Oh, hey, so, yeah. I’m headed out too. Said I’d take a shift at the garage tomorrow so, early start you know.” Dean stated.

Please let Cas take the bait, he thought to himself, trying to look casual.

“Goodbye, Dean. So nice to meet you.” Dorothy gave him a friendly hug. “And I promise to take excellent care of Charlie for you.” One corner of her mouth crooked up in a sinful smile that made Dean like her all the more.

“Glad to hear it. And thank you for welcoming us all into your home.” He turned from Dorothy to her roommate. “And thanks to you too of course,” Dean said as he received a hug from Meg, “for inviting us all and everything.”

Meg gave him a significant look rather than an actual reply, which Dean chose not to read into at that precise moment. Which just left Cas.

“If it isn’t inconvenient, Dean, I would greatly appreciate a ride home. My understanding is that it’s raining rather heavily.”

Dean could kiss him. Well, obviously, he pretty much always had _that_ particular thought at the back of his mind. Or at the front, clamouring for his attention. But Cas was playing his role as if he’d written the stage play himself.

“Sure, Cas, ’course. As long as you don’t mind being dropped off in a bright yellow Beetle instead of my Baby,” Dean teased.

“Hey! Beggars can’t be choosers, Dean!” Charlie snarked, calling from the living room.

At the same time, Cas was saying, “That will be fine, thank you, Dean.”

Dean grinned and opened the front door to reveal a torrent of rain. He pointed the car out to Cas. “After you then!”

One good thing about Charlie’s Beetle was the automatic locks. Dean pressed the button on the key fob unlocking them as he and Cas raced out to the car, threw open the doors and were inside within twenty seconds. They turned to look at each other and burst out laughing. Twenty seconds had been twenty seconds too long. They were both completely drenched. 

Cas somehow looked even more beautiful with his hair plastered to his forehead, and his cheeks red from cold and the burst of exertion. Dean’s gaze drifted to Cas’s mouth and then back up to his eyes. Cas looked at him with amusement. 

Dean twisted his body around trying to see if there was anything in this car they could dry themselves off with, and for the first time in years, he was grateful for the amount of crap Charlie let accumulate in her car. He pulled out a Pikachu towel from the backseat. Dean had to admit, it did match the car quite nicely.

He handed it to Cas with an apologetic smile. “So, where to?” he asked as Cas began to towel off his dripping hair.

Cas rattled off his address, a location no less close to campus but on the other side. 

He started the car and they were on their way. Dean generally considered himself an excellent driver. But catching glances of Cas drying his hair into wild tuffs was distracting as hell, and anyone following behind them that night probably wouldn’t have agreed with his self-assessment. If Dean thought being in the kitchen alone with Cas was intense, being in Charlie’s tiny little car was completely overwhelming. He’d initially turned on the stereo, but the pop music that blasted out quickly made him turn it off. Now there was just the sound of the rain and their breathing. 

It was Cas who broke the silence. 

“You work at a garage?” he asked out of the blue.

“Er, yeah. A friend of a family friend has a restoration shop over on the other side of town. I work there a couple of afternoons a week when I don’t have class during term, and then longer shifts over break. It’s a bit of a hassle to get there, but I like the work and he pays well.” Dean smiled to himself, thinking about Rufus. He talked tough and liked to give Dean a hard time, but he always made sure that Dean got an equal share of the tips, even though he was only there part-time. 

“It sounds like you really enjoy your work there… If you don’t mind me asking, why also work for m— the play then?”

Dean faltered. He wanted to tell him that, as much as he appreciated how supportive Cas had been of Sam and how he encouraged him to study law, that it would create a huge financial burden for him and Sam. One that he was determined to ensure Sam wouldn’t have to deal with. But he didn’t need to unload on Cas and make him feel guilty for being a good mentor and teacher. He trusted Cas not to judge him, or pity their situation, but he didn’t need to tell him all the gory details either. A traitorous part of his brain whispered that maybe that was also why he was lying to Cas about being the Poet. He shut that thought down ruthlessly. 

“Honestly, I was looking for something relatively easy to do on campus that would earn a little extra cash to pay for the books Sammy’s gonna need for the extra classes he wants to take next year. He’s pretty serious about going into law, and those political classes have some hefty tomes on their reading lists.”

Cas was quiet for a moment, and Dean worried, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“I’m really grateful for all of the support and encouragement that you’ve given Sammy not only in his class, but for his future. Hell, you even let him into your play. It’s something else, Cas.”

“Sam’s a bright student. I’d be shirking my responsibilities to not help someone in my class in any way that I could. Especially someone as smart and enthusiastic as your brother. I am glad that he has you supporting him as well. His chosen career path will be challenging and it’s really important for family to be there for him. It’s really quite inspirational how you two support one another.” 

“Oh, well, yeah. I guess. It’s just me and him really. And Bobby, of course. But we don’t want to worry him after everything he has done for us already. Plus it’s what family does, right?”

It was a rhetorical question, but Cas answered it nonetheless. “That’s what family should do in theory, yes. It doesn’t always happen that way in practice.”

“Your family not got your back?” Dean asked, hesitantly.

“You could say that.” Cas looked out his window. “They don’t much care what I get up to. Good or bad.”

“Don’t they know about the play? Don’t they want to come see it? Or are they too far away?”

“I’ve mentioned it, but I don’t think it’s really on their radar. And certainly not important enough to miss work for.”

“But…” Dean fumbled. He had no idea what to say to that. This was Cas’s thesis project. Something that he had been working on for over a year. The accumulation of countless hours of hard work and achievement, and they didn’t think it even warranted watching? 

“Shit, Cas. That sucks.”

Cas shrugged. “It is what it is. I didn’t really have any expectations that they’d act any differently. After I told them I wasn’t interested in getting an MBA or filling out the role they’d shaped for me, then they really had nothing further to say. They made it clear that they no longer wanted any part of what I did or accomplished since it wasn’t the path they would have chosen.”

Dean turned on to Cas’s street. 

“It’s the building with the big hedge in front.” Cas gestured a little further up the street on the left.

Dean pulled the VW into a spot and killed the engine. 

“Fuck. I… just can’t imagine that. I mean, Sammy could tell me he wanted to go into basket-weaving and I’d support him. I mean, sure, I’d tease the ever-loving fuck out of him, but I’d be proud of that kid no matter what he chose to do.”

“You’re a good person, Dean. Thank you.” Cas turned to look at him.

They sat in silence, the sound of the rain pounding on the roof of the car, neither one making a move to look away, or leave.

“This is you, then,” Dean said awkwardly. In no hurry to rid himself of Cas’s company, but extremely aware of how close they were sitting and how the seconds kept ticking by. 

“This is me,” Cas said, without looking at the building or going into his jacket for his keys. 

“Would you mi—”

“Can I k—”

They spoke at once and then laughed.

“You go,” Cas said.

“Uh.” Dean glanced at Cas’s lips again, “Can I kiss you?”

“I don’t know, Dean. Can you?” Cas’s lips turned up in a mischievously inviting smile.

Dean flushed red and laughed. “Got me there. _May I_ kiss you then?”

“I would like that.”

Dean leaned across the console, longing for the ease of access that Baby’s bench seats would have provided, and tentatively brought a hand up to cup Cas’s cheek, before leaning in to kiss him. 

Cas’s lips were warm and soft, and very willing. Dean felt electrified. Every nerve ending was hyper-alert as he took in the roughness of Cas’s stubble and the warmth of his nose pressing into Dean’s cheek.

It was like swimming into a whirlpool and being pulled under. Dean was helpless to resist the current of the kiss, deepening, intensifying, drawing him in. He opened his mouth and Cas sighed in appreciation as he tilted his head to give Dean better access. Their tongues danced, tip to tip, greeting, tasting, teasing. Dean’s left hand ended up in Cas’s hair, pulling him in closer. It was softer than he had ever imagined. Cas nipped at Dean’s lower lip, making him moan, his desperation for more mounting swiftly. 

They broke away for air, breathing heavily in the quiet space between them, Dean still stroking his thumb along Cas’ cheekbone. Cas’s hands had found their way into Dean’s hair and were now running through it gently. 

Fuck. He was now inhabiting a world where he had kissed Cas. There was no going back. No unknowing the taste of him, the heat of his mouth, the feel of him under Dean’s touch. 

“Dean,” Cas breathed, pulling him back in and crashing their lips together once more.

This was by far the hottest fucking thing Dean had ever experienced, and it was only a kiss! His mind whirled with the possibilities as his pants became increasingly uncomfortable.

“This—” Cas broke away, untangling himself with as much force as he’d just pulled Dean towards him with. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have.”

“Shouldn’t have?” Dean repeated, bewildered, “I was the one who asked you.”

“And I shouldn’t have agreed.”

How did Dean keep finding himself in these situations where everything seemed wonderful only for it to come crashing down around him? How had he misread this so badly?

“What?” he managed to choke out.

“It’s not fair for me to be kissing you when I clearly have feelings for someone else,” Cas rationalized, his hair a mess from where Dean had had his hands in it.

“Oh.” Dean looked down at his hands, they trembled with the loss of contact, twitching as if they were holding back from desperately reaching out to touch again.

“The Poet. I need to… I’m sorry, Dean.”

“The Poet?” Dean looked at Cas incredulously and then started laughing. He was cockblocking himself? What were the odds? But Cas was already opening the door and stepping out of the little yellow car and into the rain. 

He ducked his head back in. “Thank you for the ride, Dean. Goodnight.”

“But I’m—” The door closed on Dean’s words and Cas was gone into the night. 

“Yeah, sure. Anytime, Cas.” Dean spoke to the empty car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry? XD
> 
> Feel free to yell at us in the comments 😜


	15. Monday, December 2 - Castiel

Castiel sat at the dining room table with a cold cup of tea in front of him when Anna walked in and plopped down in the seat opposite.

“Castiel! First day back at school that bad?!” She put a hand on his arm comfortingly.

“No. Well. Yes. Work was fine, is fine. I had a chance to really get caught up on my thesis notes over the break and do this week’s prep for the exams I’m monitoring, so I’m on top of things.”

“So? What’s got your goat, sweetie? 

“I met someone.”

“You met someone? But isn’t that a good thing?” Anna removed the cup of tea from where it sat, untouched, in front of Castiel and dumped it into the sink. She refilled the kettle and put it on to boil water.

“The problem is, that there is already someone else I’m interested in,” Castiel confessed.

“Goodness, Castiel. You’ve been single for so long, not let anyone turn your head, and suddenly there are two people?”

“Except I’ve only met one of them.”

Anna looked confused. “How can there be two of them if you’ve only met one of them?”

Castiel sighed. “I think I had better show you the poems. He pulled out his phone and opened the browser, already open on 300cc. He scrolled down to the first of the poems and handed it to Anna.

“Goodness. That’s certainly a pretty sentiment. But I don’t see why it’s put you in a funk.” She handed the phone back to him.

Castiel scrolled through the posts until he found his reply before handing the phone back to her. “This was my reply,” he admitted.

“Aw, Castiel! You write so beautifully. Always such a way with words.” She beamed at him. “Well, that seems harmless enough.”

He lent over and scrolled up to the next poem. “Keep reading.”

She raised an eyebrow in question before looking back at the small screen. “Hmmm. Well, okay. This person definitely seems to have a thing for you. They are for you, I assume?”

“I’m absolutely certain, as is most of KCU, that they are being written for me. And I have confessed to friends that I am the person who has been responding.” Castiel had cued the next one up for Anna to read, and gestured for her to do so.

“These are very personal, Castiel. Are you sure you are okay with these being so public? I mean, I know your play is semi-autobiographical, but I didn’t think you were making that generally known.” Anna looked at him full of concern and Castiel already felt better for confiding in her.

“I’m not. I mean, yes, this is public, and I’m referencing the play, but I don’t really think many people are going to either read into it or care enough to put two and two together.”

“But if they do?” Anna asked, setting her hand back on his arm again.

“If they do, then good for them. Maybe it will also ring true for them. This poet certainly seems to understand, and is moved by my writing.” He paused for a second, scrolling through a bunch of miscellaneous posts to find the last poem that was written for him. “And I feel like I owe it to myself, and to the mystery poet to pursue this because I believe we have a very real and genuine connection.”

“Okay, but these, as sweet as they all are—”

Castiel cut her off with a cough and gestured for her to read on.

“Oh. Oh my.” Anna looked up, her cheeks slightly pink. “This is starting to make a little bit more sense. But you have no idea who is writing these?” she asked.

“Well, no, not exactly. I know it’s someone who’s seen the play, which means it’s very likely either a cast or crew member. I also know that the Poet was on campus during the break, when this was posted, because 300cc submissions have to be from a University ISP address,” Castiel explained.

“Or a VPN.” 

Castiel tilted his head and looked questioningly at Anna.

“Castiel, _you_ have a VPN that you use all the time to access your campus accounts from home. All postgraduates and faculty do, as far as I remember. So your poet wasn’t necessarily on campus.” She stood up and set about making fresh cups of tea for them both.

“I suppose you’re right.” Castiel took the cup she handed to him, setting it down carefully and breathing in the sweet-smelling steam. “Regardless, they will have presumably seen my most recent reply then.”

Anna read the next poem from the phone that Castiel had once again set in front of her. 

“You really want to do this, then?”

Castiel nodded.

“But you met someone. Someone else?”

He nodded again.

Anna sat quietly, blowing the surface of the hot water while waiting for Castiel to answer.

“He’s lovely. Kind, funny, insanely beautiful. It feels electric to just be near him, let alone when we kissed. I wanted him so much.” Castiel sighed, remembering just how hard it had been to pull away and leave Dean alone in Charlie’s car.

“So what’s the problem? You know this guy, you like this guy, hell, Castiel! He clearly likes you if you were kissing.”

“But what if the Poet is Mister Right?” Castiel asked. “I feel like we have a connection that goes beyond the mere physical. And maybe that’s all I have with Dean. Sure, I would happily have him right now, but is there anything more than that?” 

Anna smiled. “So the conundrum is your potential Mister Right, versus a tantalizing Mister Right Now?” She took a sip of her tea, giving him a very pointed look over the rim of her mug.

Castiel blushed. “That does sound rather…”

“Accurate?” Anna smirked.

“...Uh, yes. Yes. I guess it is. What should I do?”

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel right accepting Dean’s advances when I’m not ready to give up on the potential of something really special with the Poet. But Dean is real, and he’s here, and the Poet is just an idea. Something nebulous. An unknown quantity. And what if I meet them and it never goes anywhere but I lose my chance with Dean in the meantime?”

“It sounds like you need to know who the Poet is before you do anything else.”

“Yes… I guess so.”

“And you need to do so quickly.”

“Yes.”

“So? Do that then.”

Castiel smiled and shook his head. “You make everything sound so easy Anna. As if it was just a lack of effort on my part that we haven’t met already. What if the Poet doesn’t want to meet?”

“Castiel! What if the sky falls down tomorrow? It doesn’t matter what could happen only what will. And you’ll never know unless you actually try.”

“You’re right,” Cas said getting up from the table and heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have another poem to write,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for your help, Anna. I really appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Castiel.” Anna smiled back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, it's a short one today, but we hope you like Castiel getting some good advice from Anna :)


	16. Tuesday, December 3rd - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Trick or Treat?!
> 
> Well, you kind of had the trick last week by way of _the kiss_, so how about you get a treat this time? 
> 
> Poem, you say? Sure, we have those! Enjoy...

Dean shucked off his mitts, scarf and coat after he closed the door behind him. He was totally beat. Rehearsals had gone well that evening, but the sudden snow had been a bit more than he’d really wanted to deal with today because, on top of everything else, he’d been outside all weekend waging war against the shadow king. Moondoor had been victorious, which had been particularly gratifying as it would have to be his last weekend LARPing for quite some time, now that all his earnings would be going towards saving for Sam’s studies.

It also had been nice to spend some quality time with Charlie, even though she did yell a lot, AND demoted him from Handmaiden to Fool when she found out about the incident in the car.

“You are a complete and utter fool, Handmaiden, and as such, your new title shall match your deed until you can redeem yourself!” Charlie had decreed mid-morning on the first day.

“But Your Majesty!!”

“Fool! Bring me my wine and I shall tell you of how to properly woo a lover.”

And she did. Thoroughly, with examples.

It had taken him all weekend to win back her good graces. Mostly due to him listening without complaint of the beautiful maiden, Dorothy, with whom she had recently become acquainted and besotted with. But it also didn’t hurt that he took an assassin’s dagger to the side that was meant for his Queen. After that she had not only restored his title of Handmaiden but also promoted him to Queen’s Champion.

However, Charlie, being Charlie, had warned him that such ridiculous behaviour— if repeated— would once again lose him his status because her Champion should act in a manner befitting such a title.

Thoroughly chastised, Dean had vowed to do better. And do better he did, although not specifically in the area her Majesty had implied.

Dean had been quite productive after he had gotten home, despite being physically drained; nearly finishing the lighting script and getting more than half of the sound script completed before he crashed for the night. Dean was grateful he had, once he realized that today was going to be their first full run-through. It allowed him to get a really good feeling of what the end product would look like and what requirements were still needed. He was pleased with how well he had already met most of them.

Cas had not been at rehearsals.

He’d been told early on that Cas would rarely be there for the Tuesday sessions, but he was still disappointed not to see him, especially since Cas had made a habit of showing up on Tuesdays more often than not up until that point. Until today. Given what had happened after Friendsgiving, Dean wasn’t entirely surprised. Cas probably needed some space.

Dean stomped his feet, getting most of the snow off before removing his boots and setting them neatly on the shoe rack by the door. He made his way to the couch and immediately crashed head first down onto it. He would be happy to never get up again. Along with being physically tired, the sheer stress and irony of the situation that he was in was utterly exhausting. Maybe he should have crashed on his bed instead if this was going to be his final resting place. He choked out a laugh and managed to roll himself over on the couch. He desperately needed a distraction, so grabbed for the remote and flicked through the channels until he found a rerun of Dr. Sexy.

He was only ten minutes into the episode before Dean found himself digging in his pocket for his phone. Apparently he was a glutton for punishment even on his deathbed. He hadn’t responded to Cas’s last poem, even though he now knew for sure that the other writer was, in fact, Cas. After their conversation in the car, he didn’t want to confuse Cas any more than he already had. Dean was still kicking himself for not confessing right away that he was the other poet, but he’d been so shocked in the moment that it had gotten away from him. Since then it’d been impossible to get a conversation with the guy. It was fine that Cas needed some space, but Dean hadn’t pegged Cas on being the type to avoid someone. Clearly, he didn’t know Cas as well as he thought. Or maybe it had nothing to do with him and Cas was just busy. He did have a thesis and a TA job and his own homework and such. Not everything had to be about Dean.

In any event, Dean knew that Cas hadn’t posted anything, as the whole cast and crew would have been gossiping about it all night otherwise. No surprise really that a bunch of actors would relish any drama they could get their hands on.

Dean scrolled aimlessly through the feed. Still nothing since Cas’s poem last week. He was just about to close out the browser window when the whole thing shifted down. Dean immediately scrolled up to the top to see what had just been posted. And, as if him thinking about Cas had summoned him to the feed, there was a new poem.

_No cover, title, front flap blurb_  
_ No author listed, only words._  
_ Yet still I read and hunger_  
_ With each installment more I wonder_  
_ If the Happy Ever After_  
_ Might be part of my next chapter_  
_ The world around calls and pulls_  
_ But those words’ echos hold me still_  
_ Other wants put on hold_  
_ While this story’s unresolved._

He sat up properly and read it again. This was why Cas had told Dean he thought they shouldn’t have kissed, these were the feelings he was having for “someone else”. But how he described those feelings? It made Dean feel dizzy. Cas was a really amazing writer. But what the fuck was he supposed to do now? Dean knew that Cas was attracted to him in person— the chemistry between them was off the charts— but Cas clearly didn’t yet believe that the connection went beyond the physical, at least for Cas it didn’t. And Cas clearly didn’t know who his Poet was yet, but all the same he felt that they had an emotional connection profound enough that he was willing to put his physical attraction for Dean aside in order to explore it further. A tidal wave of jealousy hit him momentarily before he remembered that he himself was, in fact, the person who had been sending Cas poems.

He dropped his head back on the couch cushion and tried to take some deep restorative breaths. God this was a mess. He had to tell Cas that he was the Poet as soon as possible so that they could move forward. It was just a matter of finding the right time. Hopefully there would be a chance at Thursday’s rehearsal. Cas might come up to the lighting box again and they’d have some privacy, otherwise maybe Dean could catch up with him after they were finished with the run-through. He could offer to drive him home again if he drove in that day. Dean let himself get lost in imagining what it would be like to have a repeat performance of their kiss on friendsgiving, only this time they’d be sitting in Baby, pressed together without anything to separate them on her front seat bench. He’d cut the engine, look over at Cas, take a moment to drink him in, then take his hand and tell him that he was the one writing all the poems. He’d make it clear to Cas that he wanted his mind, his soul, his heart, and then show Cas just how much he wanted his body as well.

He lifted his head up and read the poem again. Cas wanted a happily ever after! With him! He should consider himself lucky really, Dean told himself, only right now all he could feel was frustration.

“You still moping, brother?” Benny asked from behind him, startling Dean so badly he threw the remote halfway across the room and nearly fell off the couch.

“Jesus, Benny!” Dean said between gulps of air, grabbing the back of the couch to orient himself. “Get a bell!”

Benny raised an eyebrow at him. “If I was any louder, I’d wake the dead. You’re just distracted.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his head. “You’re not wrong.”

Benny passed Dean a beer and moved around to take the seat next to him on the couch, unceremoniously pushing Dean’s feet off. He sipped his beer and waited.

“You know that thing, from before?” Dean picked at the label of his beer bottle.

“You mean your feelings for Castiel?”

Dean colored. “Yes. Well, I took your advice.” He ran a finger over the lip of the bottle but didn’t take a drink.

“And?” Benny prompted.

“You know 300cc, yeah?”

“You’re the Poet.”

“I deci— I… Uh, yes. I am. How the hell do you know?”

“Please, those poems had 'I’m Dean "pining after Castiel" Winchester' written all over them.”

Dean hung his head and laughed. “They were blatant for sure, but I didn’t sign my name to them!”

“Yeah? You might as well have.” Benny smirked and sipped his beer. “I call it like I see it.”

“You and Charlie are the only ones who know it’s me,” Dean confessed.

“Are you sure about that, brother?”

“Yes?” Dean finally looked over at Benny and knew that his friend was right. There was no way other people hadn’t figured it out, especially those who were close to him. “No… I guess. I don’t know who else knows, or at least suspects.”

“What about Sam?”

“Errr… I haven’t specifically spoken to Sam about it.”

“Well, I’d do that, if I were you, before you count him out.”

Dean nodded.

“So what’s the trouble? From what I’ve read, Castiel is into you too. Why aren’t you two keeping me up all night banging like rabbits yet?”

“It’s complicated.” Dean took a large gulp of beer to avoid elaborating.

“So. Uncomplicate it for me.”

Dean swallowed. “Cas admitted to me that he is the person writing back to the Poet, because he believes—”

“Correctly,” Benny interjected.

“Yes, correctly— that the poems are about him. We kissed, and then Cas said he couldn’t be with me because of his feelings for the Poet.”

“And so you told him you were the Poet?” Benny asked.

“No.”

“Well, there’s your problem right there, brother. Easy. Unless… was the kiss bad?”

“God, no! The kiss….” Dean flushed, remembering it. “The kiss was… incredible. Electrifying. Tantalizing. Invigorating, Life-altering. It was probably the best kiss of my whole goddamn life… No offence.”

“None taken,” Benny smirked at Dean and gave him and affectionate shove. “So what’s stopping you from telling him you’re the Poet then?”

“I tried! But he slammed the car door in my face. And now I think he’s avoiding me…”

“You’re both working on the play though, right? Tell him at rehearsals.”

“He skipped today’s run-through. So I’m going to try again on Thursday”

“That’s great, Brother. So what’s with the…” Benny gestured at all of Dean.

“Ha. Frustrated, is all. But,” Dean smiled, “he just posted again.” Dean handed his phone over to Benny and waited as his friend to read over the poem.

“Looks good. You going to respond?”

“Nope. Need to tell him how I feel face to face now.” Dean gripped the beer bottle determinedly. “Plus I don’t want to confuse matters any more than they already are.”

“Sounds like you have a plan. Good luck, brother.”

“Thanks, Benny.”

“Anytime.” Benny took a swig of his beer. “Now hand me that remote. Iron Chef is on.”

Dean laughed. “You’re the one who scared me so bad I threw it across the room! You get it!”

“Nope. Advice isn’t free,” Benny cackled. “Pay up.”

Dean shook his head and laughed, getting up to retrieve the remote from under the lazy boy.

***

Two days later Dean found himself elbows deep in wiring. One of the lights had shorted out and taken an entire string with it. He had to isolate the problem and replace what was broken, and quickly. By the time Dean finally managed to get everything sorted out, most of the cast and crew had left. He was happy he’d got it done but frustrated that the repair had taken up an entire rehearsal. One where he was so busy, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to anyone, let alone to Cas. Dean put his tools away and was heading for his bag that he’d dropped in the rows when he spotted Cas in discussion with Meg off to the side. Maybe this was his chance. Dean stepped forward but was immediately stopped by a very determined-looking Jessica Moore.

“Uh… Hi, Jessica?”

“Do you have any idea how worried Sam has been about you?” she demanded. Jessica didn’t have her hands on her hips, but the way her thumbs hooked into the shoulder straps of her backpack was no less intimidating.

“Sammy’s been worrying?”

“Yes, Dean. He’s supposed to be focussing on studying and rehearsing, but instead he’s been trying to come up with a way to help _you_ out.”

“Help me out with what?” Dean panicked. It was one thing to be confessing to Cas, or even to Sammy, but he hardly knew Jessica beyond spending the afternoon with her at Friendsgiving.

“I don’t know! Preparing for exams? Testing you, helping you make cards, drawing up a study timetable or whatever. All the things he needs to be doing himself but isn’t because of his worry for you! So be a good brother and FIX IT.”

Fix it? Fuck. What _didn’t_ Dean need to fix right now? “Uh. Yeah. Okay. Jessica. Got it.” He shifted back and forth from one foot to another, looking over her shoulder. Cas and Meg were leaving the auditorium. Cas glanced over at him as they walked up the other isle. Their eyes met, and for a moment they were back in that car, the desire curling in his gut, the electricity racing up his spine. The heat in Cas’s eyes lit Dean’s skin on fire. Cas wanted him. But then Cas looked away and Dean had to remember to breathe. He refocused his attention back on Jessica. “Is that everything? Can I go?” If he hurried, maybe he could catch Cas in the hallway.

Jessica eyed him for a moment before finally relenting and stepping aside. Dean stepped past her and quickly made his way up the aisle, bag forgotten. He pushed his way through the theater doors and stepped out into the hallway, looking both directions. It was empty. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah Benny, always so wise. If only it were that easy (we wouldn't have another 26 chapters for you)... Grin.


	17. Sunday, December 8th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! And Happy November! Here's another chapter for your reading <strike>pleasure</strike> frustration.

It hadn’t been that hard to get Cas’s phone number, he was in the campus directory like all postgraduates were, although Dean had been slightly surprised to see a cell number listed. Dean could only assume Cas had felt somehow obligated to give out his cell because he thought his students might need to reach him when he wasn’t in the office. It was all a bit too trusting for Dean’s liking, but he had to admit it was useful. Now all he had to do was text it.

He sat looking at the message he’d composed on the screen

**[It’s Dean. Been trying to talk to you for weeks so now resorting to this. It’s me posting the poems. Hope you’re not mad about it or at me not admitting til now]**

He sat looking at the message on the screen. It wasn’t all that different from posting a poem, was it? He’d even had to rewrite it several times to stay within the character limit, although 160 characters felt so short compared to 300!

All he had to do was hit little green send button and Cas would know everything. Well, the essentials, at least.

He took a deep breath and hit send.

His phone immediately buzzed with a new incoming text.

**[Error: Unable to deliver message as sent. Please re-send using a valid 10 digit mobile number or short code.]**

What the fuck? He was sure he’d typed the number in correctly, but he double checked it anyway. Yup, that was what was listed on the campus directory.

Maybe Cas couldn’t receive texts. Dean wasn’t sure how this could be the case in this day and age, but he knew that Cas tolerated technology rather than embraced it as a rule.

But what if the number listed was wrong? Maybe he should call it to double check.

Dean tapped the number on screen to initiate the call and lifted the phone to his ear. It began to ring. Well, it was definitely a working number. And continued to ring. And ring, for a disconcertingly long time before the line clicked with a connection.

“Hello, this is Castiel.” 

Dean took another deep breath. “Hey, Cas. It’s Dean.”

“Dean?” There was obvious surprise in his voice.

Dean decided it was best to dive straight in. “Look, Cas, I got your number from the campus directory because there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…”

The silence of Dean’s kitchen was suddenly broken by a rather insistent knocking on the front door.

“Shit, sorry Cas, hang on, someone’s at the door.” Dean was already on his feet, moving to the hallway to answer it.

“No problem, Dean.”

The person on the other side of the door was still knocking when Dean finally reached it. He wrenched it open to find his giant little brother looking quite stern. 

“Sammy?! Is everything okay?”

“No, Dean! It’s not. We need to talk.”

“Shit. Okay. One sec. Hey, Cas?”

“Hello, Dean.”

“I’m so sorry, I know I just called you but I need to go. Sammy’s at the door, and it looks important.”

“No problem, Dean. We can speak another time,” Cas rumbled.

“Yeah, I’ll talk to you later?” 

“Goodbye, Dean. I hope everything is okay with Sam.”

“Yeah, I hope so too, thanks. Bye, Cas.” Dean hit the red button and sighed internally. Another opportunity, gone. He looked up at his brother. “Okay, I’m here. What’s going on, Sam?”

“That’s what I came to ask you! Dean, I haven’t spoken to you properly for weeks, and I’ve barely seen you.”

Dean stepped aside and let his brother in. 

Sam took off his coat and shoes before looking back at Dean. 

“Just so we’re clear. There is no emergency? No one is in danger? You are safe and healthy and not in trouble?” Dean needed to clarify that immediately. His adrenaline was already flowing from the call and Sammy’s arrival had kicked it into overdrive.

“Yes?” Sam looked a little sheepish.

Dean smacked him upside the head. “I hung up on Cas for you!”

“That was one of the things I wanted to talk to you about!”

Dean sighed. It felt like everyone was going to talk to him about Cas except for Cas.

“Okay, Samantha, let’s talk.” Dean lead the way to the kitchen and got his brother a water, at the same time grabbing a beer for himself. “Sit,” he said, pointing to the kitchen table before taking his own seat. “Sorry I’ve been so busy, what with projects, finals, the play, other things… Tell me what’s going on with you.”

“But I came here to talk about you!” Sam protested.

“Yeah well, my shit can wait. Spill.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Sam visibly deflated, his large frame curling in on itself.

Dean took a page out of Benny’s book and waited his brother out instead of replying. 

“It’s Jess. And… well, Eileen… And,” Sam’s face had turned red, “well, me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Sam?”

“Ugh.” Sam ran a hand down his face. “I really like both Jess and Eileen.”

“Okay...So?”

“What should I do about them?”

“Do with them, Sammy? I gave you the birds and bees talk a long time ago, but about them. Oh no. That you have to figure out for yourself. I could tell you to make a list of pros and cons but it wouldn’t do you a lick of good. Your heart wants what it wants even if your brain is confused. It’s as simple as that. You’re just going to have to be honest with them, and honest with yourself.”

“Like you and Castiel?”

Dean choked on the mouthful of beer he’d just taken and Sam had to pat him on the back before he had sufficiently recovered to speak.

“Wrong pipe,” Dean rasped.

“Uh huh.” Sam glowered at him, not about to let him wriggle out of this. “Spill, Dean.”

“I really like him, Sam. _Really_ like him.”

“I figured you’d developed a crush on him after you started coming to pick me up early from class last semester” Sam smirked.

Dean couldn’t even deny it. He sighed and nodded. “And then when I realized it was _his play_ I’d signed up to help with… it just got so much worse. And then I wasn’t sure how to tell him. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if he was into guys at that point… but I wanted some sort of grand gesture,” Dean admitted.

“So you wrote the poems.”

“Yeah, I— wait, how did you know I’d written them?”

“Oh come on, Dean, they have your particular brand of lovestruck longing oozing from every line.”

“Well shit.” It seemed Benny was right. 

“I take it Castiel still doesn’t know they’re from you?”

Dean shook his head, his lips pursed. “I gave him a ride home after Friendsgiving and we kissed,” Dean confessed.

“But you didn’t tell him.” It wasn’t a question, Sam knew him too well to have to ask.

“I tried! Honestly, I’ve _been_ trying. That’s why I was calling him tonight.”

“And I interrupted!” Sam groaned, his hands coming up to cover his face momentarily. “I’m so sorry Dean, I never would have if I'd known.”

“It’s okay, you’re important too.”

“Damn right I am, Jerk.” Sam grinned at him and received a playful punch in the shoulder for his efforts.

“Bitch.” Dean was smiling too, and rubbing his knuckles grimacing. “Damn, you’ve turned into a solid mass, I gotta remember not to punch you any more. You eaten?”

***

They ordered pizza and enjoyed an hour or so of talking about their different friends and classes, about their trip back to Uncle Bobby’s coming up over the Christmas vacation, and about the play.

“Castiel really is talented,” Sam commented. “And everyone really respects how he’s always willing to listen to other opinions and take on suggestions. Meg flat out adores him, and she pretty much hates everyone else.”

Dean glowered at his half eaten slice of Supreme (a compromise. Dean still got to have all the meats, but Sam got to have some veggies too). 

“Oh come on, Dean. You can’t be jealous of Meg!” Sam reached over and stole a mushroom off Dean’s piece, popping it into his mouth.

“Rationally, I’m not. Obviously. But whenever I start thinking about Cas all rationality goes out the window, Sammy. It drives me crazy that I can’t sit next to him in the theater going over every scene together, that it’s not me he leaves with each night. That she gets to talk and laugh and smile at him and all I do is watch queasily from up in the fucking lighting rig where I’m clinging on for dear life and trying not to puke on your guys’ heads.” 

Sam laughed.

“Fuck you! It’s not funny. You know I don’t do heights.” Dean scowled.

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about the irony of you holding on when you’ve already fallen. For Castiel, at least. Reminds me of that line of Diana’s, “Falling is only scary when there’s no one to catch you.” 

Dean looked at his brother, brow furrowed. “What are you saying, Sam?”

“I’m saying you’ve got this.” Sam stood up, tidying the last few slices to one side of the pizza box and closing the lid. “I’m taking this with me. Make your call, Dean.” He picked up the box and headed over to the door, pulling his shoes on before Dean had even had a chance to react.

“Why do you get the rest of the pizza?!” Dean shouted from the kitchen, getting up and heading to join Sam in the hall.

“I’m still growing!” Sam called back, shrugging into his jacket without putting the pizza down. 

“Like hell you are.” Dean groused. “You’re already big enough.”

“That’s what she said.” Sam laughed.

Dean laughed and rolled his eyes. “Get out of here, Sasquatch.”

“Call Cas, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

Dean closed the door after Sam and leaned against it for a moment. He was going to do this and it was all going to be okay. He took a deep breath, pulled out his phone and pressed call. He waited as Cas’s phone rang and rang and rang. 

“Hello. This is Castiel Novak. Please leave me a message and I’ll return your call when I am able. Thank you.”

Okay, not ideal, but Dean could do this.

The phone pinged in his ear. “The voice mailbox you are trying to reach is full. Please call back and try again later.” 

“Dammit, Cas.” He slammed a hand against the door frame and ended the call. The universe was obviously not quite ready for Dean to reveal himself as the Poet just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... we know. But please know that we're not even half the way through the story (or the poems) yet, so there is plenty more fun and games to come. Don't give up on our sweet, hapless boys. Their hearts are definitely in the right places!


	18. Thursday December 12th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bonfire night, for those of you in the UK. Please sound an "Ahhhh!" for me at whatever fireworks you happen to see tonight. For everyone else... have a chapter! - Span.

Castiel had pretty much given up all hope. Hope of Meg ever being satisfied with the rewrites he was doing on _Free Will_, hope that Professor Crowley wouldn’t pile all of his end of term marking on Castiel, hope of finding out who his poet was, or even of another poem being posted to 300cc. He had really begun to think that it might actually be Dean, but Dean hadn’t said anything during Thanksgiving when the poetry had been discussed, nor had he said anything in the car after they’d kissed, and since then Dean had barely said anything to him, period. It seemed like Castiel was back to square one.

Every day was bitter and grey. Castiel got up, dressed in whatever didn’t smell to high heaven, drank coffee and made a piece of toast and honey that he ate as he walked to campus. He would check his emails, do any prep for classes he had that day or that had been assigned to him, attend any meetings that had been scheduled— either with Crowley or Professor Shurley, sometimes with other creative writing postgraduates (which typically involved drinking yet more coffee). He attended the classes he was assigned to assist with, held his office hours for students to drop in to, ate lunch at his desk reading whatever volume he was currently cataloguing his references for (currently _Theater as Sign-System: A Semiotics of Text and Performance_), and was generally too busy and too tired to feel miserable.

Even the distraction of rehearsals didn’t help his mood. It would have been fine if he hadn’t had to spend the entirety of every rehearsal studiously avoiding one Dean Winchester. Maybe he’d been too rash in telling Dean that he needed to find out if the Poet was the man of his dreams (not that he _had_told Dean that, in so many words). After all, it wasn’t that he didn’t like Dean. Far from it. The man’s presence was like a black hole and Castiel could only hold out so long before he got pulled in. He still wanted Dean— even more so now that there were no poems worming their way into his thoughts— but would Dean still want him? He’d been horribly rude to him really.

Tonight he sat in front of his computer with an empty bowl of soup set to the side, trying (and failing) to finish the current chapter of his thesis that he was in the process of reworking. He’d had his final meeting of the term with Professor Shurley in the morning, and desperately needed to have his writing in a more coherent shape so that he could get some feedback on his argument for making space for actor input.

He reread the sentence again. He’d already rewritten it twice and it was awful. Where had his creativity gone? Probably the same place as his hope.

Castiel sighed. He hated feeling so dejected so close to the holidays. Christmas eve was in twelve days.

_On the First Day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: some verse on 300cc._

He looked at what he’d written and laughed. Maybe that was exactly what he needed. It wasn’t as if he’d been posting poems either. Could it be that the other poet was feeling as crappy as he was? Presumably they were also swamped with school work, responsibilities, and, of course, the play, just the same as he was.

Maybe he should post it.

He tabbed over to his browser and pulled up 300cc, quickly checking to ensure he hadn’t missed a response from his poet before he resigned himself to being the first to write again. He typed the lyric into the submissions form. It was very short. Castiel read it through again and added _Happy Christmas, Poet._ to the end of the line before hitting 'submit'.

It was hardly eloquent. It wasn’t even really a poem. But maybe it would make the Poet smile, just like it had made him. He hoped that would be the case.

**Friday, December 13th**

Thank fuck that classes were over. No more whining undergrads, no more Crowley glaring at him and being a general asshat, no more having to haul himself to campus each morning. There was still a final week of exams to get through— Castiel would be supervising several of them— and they were still rehearsing, but it was way better than having to deal with classes.

Castiel lay on his bed with a book and a glass of wine. It wasn’t even a book he had to read, but one that Hannah had lent him. He was sleepy, warm, relaxed and surprisingly happy considering that there had been no response from the Poet.

What had happened that had convinced the Poet to so drastically change their strategy? They’d been all in, and then after the Thanksgiving break there had been nothing posted. Could the Poet have somehow found out that Castiel had kissed Dean? He didn’t think that Dean would have told anyone, but it wasn’t exactly a secret that they had left the party together and rumours were want to fly at rehearsals. Maybe he needed to remind the Poet of their shared connection. Castiel pulled out his phone and quickly typed up another line into the submissions box. Might as well.

_On the second day of Christmas, I still believe that we: are two kindred spirits. _

Hopefully that would get a response. He finished his wine, set the book aside and began to get ready for bed.

**Saturday, December 14th**

Still nothing. Castiel was beginning to feel pissed off. What had he done? He’d given up a shot at a perfectly good relationship with a man who was kind, funny and sexy as hell, was what he’d done. All for some asshat who blew hot and cold toying with his emotions.

He’d spent the whole day helping Anna wrap her paintings to be ready for transport. She’d been invited to exhibit at a new, but potentially influential gallery across town, and was trying to decide what in her portfolio would make the cut in this new collection.

They’d had a nice day together, chatting and reminiscing about their carefree undergraduate days, but now Castiel was in the house alone. Anna had gone to see a movie and Hannah was at work, leaving him to wallow in his own insecurities. Maybe these Christmas verses were too silly for the Poet to take seriously? They certainly didn’t match up to some of the poems they had posted previously.

Castiel huffed. So what if they weren’t highbrow. He was just trying to have fun, and this endless silence was downright rude. He’d post one last line, see if he couldn’t provoke a response, and after that, he was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a short one... but there will be more on Thursday, promise. And hey, it's almost Christmas (in fic 'verse, anyway...)!
> 
> Oh, and if you are even vaguely curious, [this](https://www.taylorfrancis.com/books/9781315002576) is what Castiel is reading. Uh huh.


	19. Saturday, December 14th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you have been living under a rock, this fic is NSFW (if you work somewhere where reading _erotic fiction_ might be considered problematic). This chapter DEFINITELY falls into the category.
> 
> Of course, if you work somewhere super chill and open to such things– read on!
> 
> Alternatively, enjoy in the comfort of seclusion, ideally with a cup of something tasty.

Dean was slowly going through his flashcards, making sure that there wasn’t a single item that he couldn’t recall without having to check the back for the answer. He had two exams on Monday, an extended rehearsal for the play on Tuesday and then two more exams on Wednesday and Thursday before the final rehearsal on Thursday night. He’d half thought about skipping Tuesday’s run-through, but bizarrely enough, some of the lighting panel information was relevant to one of his practical exams, so he considered his work on the play to be exam preparation rather than avoidance. It wasn’t that he felt like not showing up would be directly letting Cas down. Nope. Not at all. Cas and Meg had both been very generous with the cast and crew, saying that they understood if anyone had to miss the occasional rehearsal because of exams. Dean wasn’t the only fourth-year student in the production, and he knew some people had long written exams. At least his were relatively short multiple-choice tests.

Dean needed to take a break. He’d been studying all afternoon and his stomach was grumbling. He stood up from his desk and walked over to the shared living space of his and Benny’s tiny shared campus apartment. Their small fridge yielded a block of cheese, half an onion and a couple of not particularly fresh bagels.

“Well, okay then.”

Dean set about chopping and frying the onion, letting it brown and caramelize while he sliced a bagel and cheese. He heated the bread in the countertop oven and then added the cheese, letting it melt and bubble before declaring himself satisfied. The fried onions were then added on top of the cheese and Dean took in his open top sandwich with pride.

He sat back at his desk, moving his flashcards to the side so they didn’t get food on them and began to eat. He was two mouthfuls in when he flipped open his laptop, deciding this was a perfect time to watch a couple of _Love, Death and Robots_ episodes— his current favorite Netflix series. 

Dean was somewhat surprised then when the screen loaded to 300cc, rather than his Netflix queue. He could have sworn that was the tab he’d hit, but on closer inspection he realized that he’d miss-clicked and that the tab for 300cc was the one right next to Netflix. 

He meant to switch back straight away, but was immediately pulled in by the most recent post:

_On the third day of Christmas, someone wrote for all to see: three weeks of silence._

Shit. That was salty. Not that he didn’t kind of deserve it. He hadn’t posted anything in weeks. First, because he hadn’t wanted to fuel Cas’s interest in the Poet before Dean had confessed, and then because he’d been so overwhelmed with his studies, all the work that he had to do for the play, and the extra shifts he was now picking up at the garage.

He hadn’t even looked at the feed for a few days. Huh, maybe this wasn’t the only thing that Cas had posted. After all, why would he start on day three? 

Sure enough, Dean found the first two verses of the song just below a slew of posts about tutoring and study help.

He read them through in order and laughed, inadvertently spraying the screen with food.

Oh my god, he loved Cas so much. The guy was hilarious. Maddening. But hilarious.

Wait. He _loved_ Cas? 

Dean chewed thoughtfully. It was a phrase. Like the way he might say he loved Dr. Sexy, or Zeppelin, or Harry Potter. He wasn’t _in love_ with Cas. Not yet, at least. 

_Two kindred spirits. _

They were, weren’t they? Dean yearned to explore their bond, their chemistry, to its full extent. He wanted to revel in Cas— share his likes and dislikes, listen to Cas’s opinions, hear his theories, see the world through his gaze. And that was before he let himself think about their physical connection, the things he wanted to do to Cas, the things he wanted Cas to do to him, the places he wanted to touch, to kiss, to taste. 

_On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me…_

Did Cas really think Dean was his true love? Despite everything, they still barely knew each other, although there was nothing that Dean did know that he didn’t like, or want to know more of where Cas was concerned. It could be. It wasn’t true love yet, but who was to say if given the chance that it couldn’t become so.

Dean went to take another bite of the bagel and realized he’d finished it. He pushed the plate away and picked up the laptop, standing up and moving over to sit with it on his bed.

He scrolled through pages of 300cc until he found his very first poem and began to diligently copy and paste every one that the two of them had written into a Word document. Dean was quite sure that Charlie had every failsafe in place to prevent data loss, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t want to keep an anthology of the poems for himself, just in case.

It seemed like another lifetime ago that he’d sent that first poem. 

Dean read each one over anew as he pasted them into the document, recalling writing and reading them all the first time round as he did so. Did Cas reread them too? Where did he compose the ones he’d posted? At home, at a desk or table? In his office, surreptitiously scrawling in a notebook between classes?

Dean let himself imagine Cas at a nondescript college desk, in one of the generic cramped offices that was typical of those available to PhD students. Would Cas get up to shut the door, or would he not care if it was left ajar? It seemed to be common practice across campus that all teaching staff— postgraduates and faculty alike— only closed their doors if they were in a private meeting or had left their office altogether. Dean had to admit he quite liked the idea that anyone could walk in on Cas writing, lips parted, brow furrowed in thought, maybe a slight flush across his cheeks. Would Cas be clinical in his approach to writing poetry, sat with a thesaurus open beside him or perhaps a published poetry collection from which to draw inspiration? Did he close his eyes and let himself imagine who he was writing to? Dean remembered Cas confessing that he had a strong mental image of the Poet. Who did he picture? A faceless entity? Dean? Someone else? 

Dean had slipped a hand down to his crotch while he thought, stroking himself absentmindedly through his sweatpants. Did Cas ever touch himself beneath the desk while he wrote?

Dean moaned at the thought, pushing the laptop shut and away so that he could wriggle down to a more reclined position. He slid his hand into his pants and let the fantasy of Cas in his office play on while he wrapped his fingers around his now fully hard cock.

He remembered the feel of Cas’s stubble against his cheeks, the way his soft lips had sought out Dean’s. He remembered how Cas’s very presence had raced like electricity through his body, tuning every sense toward the other man. How one kiss had shot up the ranks to become the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. Dean moaned softly as he ran his thumb over the leaking head of his cock on the next stroke. Gifted with the knowledge that Cas was in fact the person writing him back, the downright sinful poem Cas had written before Friendsgiving now filled his brain with images of the playwright _exploring the expanse_ of Dean’s skin. Dean’s own hands mapping where Cas would touch and taste and claim. 

He closed his eyes as he spread his legs, imagining how being _spread out beneath_ Cas might feel, how Cas would slowly work his way down Dean’s body, teeth nipping a trail only to be followed by caressing lips and tongue. Dean let his fingers trail the path he imagined Cas would take: around his nipple (pinching it and making himself quiver at the sensation), across his chest to the tattoo on his left pec (scraping his nails across it as Cas might scrape his teeth), over his heart (pausing to place his palm over it and feel it pounding wildly in his chest), down to his belly button (where Cas would dip his tongue in, swirl it around), follow the trail of hair down to the base of his dick. Dean gently stroked up the length of his shaft, imagining Cas’s tongue performing the action, flicking over the tip, circling the glands before his lips wrapped around the head and sucked Dean in. 

Dean thrust up into his hand, moaning loudly. He worked his free hand underneath himself, pushing down his sweatpants and briefs so that his ass was exposed. He circled his hole with a finger, imaging Cas wanting to prep him thoroughly, readying him to be claimed. He paused to pull a bottle of Astroglide out of his bedside drawer and hurriedly squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers before settling back onto the bed. Cas would take such good care of him. Make everything feel amazing, Dean was sure. He began to work one finger in and out of his hole, massaging the ring of muscle and inner walls as he continued stroking his cock with the other hand. Cas’s mouth would be wet and hot around him, his long, clever fingers lighting him up inside. Dean pushed a second finger in, loving the slight burn as he stretched himself open. His hands sped up, fingers pushing deeper inside as he envisioned Cas pounding into him, filling him up, setting every nerve on edge as he worked Dean closer and closer towards the edge. He was shaking, spiralling towards the rush of pleasure threatening to consume him. Dean would come for him, shuddering and crying out Cas’s name. He could almost feel Cas’s skin against his, taste him on his lips, hear his rumbles of pleasure as he pounded into Dean again, and again and again. _Obliterating everyone who came before_. 

“CAAASSSSSSS!” he cried out, his voice broken with pleasure. Dean came hard, spilling over his hand and onto his stomach and chest. Fuck. Dean just lay there breathing, slowly getting his heart rate back to normal. How could Cas make him feel this good and not even _be here_? 

Dean cleaned himself up as best as could with some wipes before he pulled his boxer briefs and sweats back up and placed his computer back onto his lap.

It didn’t take him long to type out a poem. All of his emotions were raging through his happy, blissed-out state, spilling out in the same gushing spurts that his climax just had. He read it over, making a few edits, and changing a word or two here and there before he was satisfied. It was far too long, he knew, but Cas had already provided a solution to that problem, and so Dean posted it in three parts— backwards, so that it would read in the right order on the webpage. He had Cas to thank for that too.

Once the poem was up on 300cc, ready for Cas to find, Dean hauled himself up and off to the bathroom. Shower, and then bed. Nothing like a really good orgasm to make him sleepy. He smiled to himself and walked across the small apartment in a blissed-out haze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was brought to you by the letters C and D, and by the color Green. 
> 
> We'd also like to thank Astroglide - long time supporter of all things Desitel, and _Love, Death and Robots_ on Netflix. If you haven't watched it, it's a compilation of animated shorts, each exploring the theme or Love and/or Death and/or Robots. So if any combination of those things floats your boat, we highly recommend checking it out (be warned of explicit content in several of the episodes).
> 
> More Days of Christmas coming on Sunday, along with whatever it was Dean just churned out! Grin.


	20. Sunday, December 15th - Castiel

Castiel stretched out languidly, taking up as much of his bed as he could with his limbs spread wide. Maybe he didn’t need to get out of bed at all today. He rolled his head from side to side experimentally as he yawned. Or he could get up, grab a coffee and his notebook and come _back_ to bed. That was definitely a good plan.

He got up and pulled on his grey cotton robe and fluffy slippers before heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He could use the bathroom while the water boiled, thus minimizing the time he would need to be out of bed.

In no time at all he was snuggled back beneath his flannel sheets, robe still around his shoulders and a mug of good honey-sweetened coffee nestled between his palms. It was going to be a busy week. He had eight exams to invigilate, several meetings to attend, two rehearsals for the play, and he really had to get started on finding some Christmas gifts for Hannah and Anna. Hmmm. He needed to get Gabriel something too, seems as he’d be coming over on Christmas day, a gag gift at the very least. And maybe something small for Meg.

He began scribbling down possible ideas in his notebook but then stopped. He’d written Dean’s name down, with the word “pie” next to it. Would it be too awkward to give Dean a gift? Even a small, home-made mincemeat pie? Castiel loved mince pies— Balthazar had introduced him to them back in his undergraduate days, his British father special ordering boxes and boxes of them each Holiday from some speciality store. Now Castiel couldn’t imagine Christmas without them, but had no idea where to get them, not without spending a fortune, but had found that they were easy enough to make with jars of store-bought mincemeat. Would Dean like them? They were pies, after all.

Castiel shook his head as if to clear it. No. He couldn’t make pies just for Dean. He was determined not to lead Dean on. He was actually quite proud of how wide of a berth he’d been managing to give him the past few weeks. They’d barely exchanged more than pleasant greetings as they’d met in passing.

Maybe Castiel should make a really big batch of pies. That way he could package several together in gift boxes and give them out as presents to the cast and crew. That would at least partially solve what to get for Meg, and he’d be able to give Dean a gift without it seeming like it was anything more than just a gesture of Holiday goodwill. Yes, that was an excellent plan. He could go out this afternoon and buy all the ingredients so that he could do the baking one night this week.

He picked up his phone to find the recipe online in order to write out a list of all the things he would need in his notebook. The browser refreshed as he opened it, reloading 300cc— apparently (and unsurprisingly) the last website he’d looked at.

There, in all its Arial glory, was a new poem.

_When I’m lying in my bed_  
_Your presence never leaves my head_  
_Even when I finally sleep_  
_I dream that you’re three fingers deep_

_Awoken gasping for your touch_  
_I find myself shit out of luck_  
_Instead I read your pretty lines_  
_Until I reach release divine_

_Dreaming of the way you kiss_  
_And at that point of mortal bliss_  
_Swear I feel your teeth and lips_  
_Hand in my hair and on my hips_

_Imagining that I touch your skin_  
_My eyes slide closed you pull me in_  
_Close enough to breathe as one_  
_And in the haze I come undone_

_But what else do you want from me_  
_Just more raunchy poetry?_  
_Once you’ve got the lay of land_  
_Staked your claim, planted that flag_  
_Explored the wood, finished the book_  
_Will you take a second look?_

Cas sat stunned, almost spilling his coffee, and had to set it down. Finally. Three weeks of nothing and finally there was a new poem. And oh! What a poem! He shivered, his ass clenching as he read it through again. Holy. Fucking. Shit. He slid his hand down into his briefs as he began to reread the poem once more, but stopped short.

This wasn’t a declaration of love, or even lust. This was just the Poet getting off and then getting defensive. But why? What had he done to deserve this? He’d been asking for more, reaching out, trying to keep things light between them. Could the Poet still be angry about the fact that he had kissed Dean? But how could they not think he’d take a second look at them? All Castiel wanted to do was look. To see them in person. To know them in person. It was driving him crazy. And here the Poet was implying that he was treating the whole thing like a prize to be won and then tossed aside. Hadn’t they been reading his damn poems?

He lent his head back against the headboard of his bed frame and tried to breathe deeply. He needed to respond. To reassure the Poet that he was interested. More than interested. Committed. But he’d done that, hadn’t he? He thought he had. Castiel huffed in annoyance. This whole situation was immeasurably infuriating. He picked up the mug and downed the last of his coffee, willing the caffeine into his system, needing the spike of alertness to help him make sense of it all.

Suddenly spending the day in bed didn’t seem all that appealing. He got up and went to take a shower, but merely stood stewing under the hot streams of water feeling no less annoyed. His mood didn’t lift after he’d eaten, or had a cup of tea, or even after he’d gone to the store to buy the ingredients for the pies (he’d eventually looked up the recipe on his computer, not ready to reopen the browser on his phone and see the offending poem again). He’d found a gift set of fancy infused oils that Hannah would love, and he’d ended up buying Anna her favorite brand of hand lotion and a pair of fingerless gloves knitted with recycled yarn. He’d even found a bag of pasta shaped like penises that he knew Gabriel would eat up, literally and figuratively both, plus they wouldn’t be too heavy to mail.

He sat on the floor in his room angrily wrapping the gifts he’d bought, and absentmindedly singing the Twelve Days of Christmas in his head. Unfortunately, he’d changed so many verses recently that the lyrics quickly devolved into more topical lines as he began to focus on the words in his head.

_On the fourth day of Christmas some jackass wrote for me: four raunchy stanzas._

He laughed, rather bitterly, and pulled out his phone. Fortunately, when he opened the browser and the page refreshed this time there were several posts from people looking for near-campus housing over the Holiday vacation. No poems. Good.

Castiel quickly typed in the line he’d thought of and hit the submit button. Was it too snarky? He didn’t care. Right now he was more than happy to antagonize the Poet, add fuel to the fire. Maybe he could rile them up enough to give themselves away. Not to mention the fact that the idea of a little sparring, verbal or otherwise, was something of a turn on. An image of Dean, hot, cross and bothered sprung unbidden into Castiel’s mind, and his dick twitched appreciatively in his pants. Damn. He had to stop thinking about Dean, it just served to make him more frustrated. And he already had plenty of pent up emotion running riot today.

He decided to channel his restless energy into baking, seeing as his day in bed had been abandoned. After all, he’d got all the ingredients now and still had the whole afternoon ahead of him. Castiel set the wrapped gifts on his desk and went to the kitchen. As usual, neither of his housemates were around. Hannah had a matinee performance that they needed to be at work for, and Anna was probably in her room painting. She had been going crazy lately trying to get several big pieces finished in time for her upcoming exhibition. He wondered if she’d eaten recently, only to realize that he hadn’t had anything in several hours himself. Castiel decided to make them both soup and grilled cheese sandwiches— soup in a mug for Anna so she could eat while she worked.

He set about getting the food together whilst simultaneously setting out the ingredients he’d bought earlier to make pies. He already had the three large jars of mincemeat, so all he really needed to do was make the pastry and assemble the mini pies before baking them. The soup was steaming in the pan, and the cheese was bubbling at the edge of the sandwiches so Castiel turned off the burners and transferred the meal, such as it was, to mugs and plates, putting a set on a tray for Anna and moving the other to the table. He would eat it while he went over the mince pie recipe one more time.

Castiel didn’t bother knocking when he reached Anna’s room at the end of the hallway. He guessed (correctly) that she’d have her headphones on and wouldn’t hear him, not to mention be covered in paint, making opening the door quite difficult. He pushed the door open and peeked around, still trying to respect her privacy, but immediately saw that he’d been correct. She was kneeling on a drop cloth at the far side of her room (both Hannah and Castiel had insisted that she take the large front bedroom, knowing that she would be using the space to paint, and neither one really caring about having much space for themselves) painting the lower section of a big canvas. She didn’t notice him straight away, Castiel making it halfway across the room before she looked up and broke into a big grin, using her forearm to push her headphones back off her ears, daubs of acrylic splattered over her hands.

“Castiel! You’re such a sweetheart and a mind reader. Fuck! I’m starving. What time is it?” Anna set her paintbrush in a jar and gingerly stood up. “Oooof, kneeling for way too long!”

She wiped her hands on a rag and came over to investigate Castiel’s offerings. “Nothing fancy I’m afraid,” he said, setting the tray down on one of the few clear patches of floor.

“Nonsense, this is wonderful.” She picked up half of the sandwich and took a large bite, but her attention was already back on the painting she’d just stepped away from. “The focus is still too heavy on the left hand side,” Anna said through a mouthful of bread and cheese. She got up, picking up the tray of food and taking it with her, and walked back over to her canvas.

Castiel smiled to himself and quietly left her to work, pulling the door closed behind him and returned to the kitchen. He sat down at the table to eat his own food and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it, and for a moment there was the line of the song he’d posted that morning, and then the page refreshed.

_I suppose you think I deserved that,_  
_Knowing you, you're probably right._  
_But know it was born of frustration,_  
_Of untamed emotions at night._  
_I know that we can do better,_  
_If only given the chance._  
_That this could be perhaps the start_  
_Of a beautiful romance._

Castiel coughed as his soup went down the wrong pipe. Once he’d stopped spluttering and had a drink of water he picked up his phone again, this time without food in his mouth.

All the frustration and resentment he’d been feeling evaporated on reading the poem. It was endearing. Contrite, witty and utterly delightful. How could Castiel have ever have doubted his poet? Maybe they _were_ soulmates. This poem seemed to be just one more piece of evidence leading him to that conclusion. He finished his soup and sandwich with a satisfied smile on his face, a smile that didn’t fade while he baked the pies, while he made dinner, or while he was getting ready for bed. The smile was still ghosting at the corner of his lips that night as he composed some lines to post in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? TWO poems and an altered song lyric in one chapter?  
Don't get used to being so spoiled! :P  
So much failure to communicate! Whatever shall we do with these boys?
> 
> Still, a way to a <strike>man's</strike> Dean's heart is as much through his belly as it is through poetry?!
> 
> [Vegan Mince Pie Recipe](https://domesticgothess.com/blog/2018/12/07/vegan-mince-pies/) Span assures me that this is the closest recipe she could find to her grandmother's version. <3


	21. Monday, December 16th - Dean

Dean woke up Monday morning hoping that his poem had been enough. It had taken him forever to get to sleep the night before, tossing and turning, hoping against hope that his last poem had made up for the one before it. Cas had been right to call him out, he’d been letting his insecurities potentially fuck up not one but _two_ chances he’d created at what could possibly be the best thing to ever happen to him. He could not waste the opportunity that being the Poet afforded him. Dean sighed and reached for his phone. 300cc came up and Dean’s fears were immediately silenced as Cas’s newest poem sat at the top, as if everyone else knew that Dean needed to see it before they could post anything else.

_On the fifth day of Christmas my poet made me feel: Five deadly sins!_

_I’ve pride in my poems and am greedy for more,_  
_Have envy of those who you don’t ignore._  
_I am a glutton for punishment and so I keep on_  
_Lusting for you ‘til this fifth day is gone._

Holy shit. A verse from the song _and_ a poem too, it must be Christmas! Dean laughed at himself, realizing that this was exactly what it was. Well, was about to be, anyhow. He got up and headed for the shower. How should he respond? They were long past the point of waiting days between posts. Should he write his own verse of the Christmas song? Or leave those for Cas? Dean automatically went through the motions of getting ready for class. A half hour later, he was eating breakfast and no closer to a solution. Maybe he should pick a different Christmas song? Like they were singing to each other while writing love poetry at the same time? Dean blushed to the roots of his hair, despite no one being able to see him. He was so gone on Cas it was embarrassing.

Dean did his best to push Cas out of his mind as he sat down for his first exam of the day, Mechanical Engineering 417. Three hours later Dean emerged from the room as if coming out of a daze. He knew he’d done well but his brain was utterly fried. He’d never make it through Electrical Engineering 453 later if he didn’t grab some food first. Dean was so intent on his food that he didn’t even notice those around him until someone cleared their throat. Dean looked up to see his brother standing in front of the table with a tray in his arms and Eileen by his side.

“Sam! Eileen!” Dean gestured to the table, and the two took the seats opposite him. He immediately felt bad when he realized he didn’t know which exams, if any, Sam was taking that day. Had he been so consumed with Cas that he’d forgotten to be there for his little brother again?

“How did your exams go?” Dean hedged, grateful for the opportunity to look directly at Eileen instead of his brother so that she could read his lips.

“I don’t have exams. But generally, my research is going very well, thank you,” Eileen replied with a smile. “Ancient History is so interesting, it never really feels like work anyway!”

Dean smiled and nodded to her before finally turning to look at his brother. Instead of a scowl, Sam sat across from him grinning as if he was the cat that ate the canary.

“What?” Dean groused.

“My exam isn’t until this afternoon.” Sam grinned. “And you don’t know which one it is.”

“So, what?” Dean mumbled before saying louder, “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Sam retorted. “I’d say you’ve been quite busy with other things lately…”

Dean paused before he replied, choosing his words carefully. “As have you.” Sam straightened, and in that moment the brothers understood each other perfectly.

Sam cleared his throat. “I never realized how much work goes into a stage production.”

“Not only the work on the play itself but also the work of interacting with others,” Eileen said with an eyebrow raised at the brothers.

Dean grinned as he felt his face flush. Eileen didn’t miss much, that was for sure.

“Welp, you’re not wrong.” Dean laughed before turning to Sam. “Still three more exams to go, right?”

Sam nodded.

“After this afternoon, I only have one more. Tomorrow. Then I’ve picked up extra work at the garage for Thursday through Monday,” Dean continued.

“The garage is open that close to Christmas?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Only in the morning. I told Bobby I wanted to get a bit of extra work in before we headed over.”

“A _bit_ of extra work, Dean? That sounds like a lot more than a _bit_. Not to mention all the other extra shifts you’ve been doing the past few weeks. You’ve been working non-stop.”

“Well, I’ll be taking a break for Christmas, Sammy, and we’re still driving to Bobby’s, so no need to get your panties in a bunch.”

“Bet Bobby was just as thrilled to hear that as I am.” Sam scowled.

“Just about,” Dean muttered. “Are you doing anything for Christmas, Eileen?” he asked before he went back to eating his burger and fries.

Sam rolled his eyes and dug into his own food.

“No, I’ll just be here on campus,” Eileen replied after putting down her fork to sign as she spoke.

“By yourself?” Sam raised his eyebrows in question. “You’re not going home— to Ireland?”

“I visited in the summer, so I decided to stay here. Catch up on my reading.” Eileen shrugged.

Dean knew exactly what his brother was thinking. They locked eyes for a moment and Dean nodded.

“Come have Christmas with us!” Sam implored.

“What? No! I couldn’t impose.” Eileen’s eyes were wide as she stared at Sam in shock.

“Eileen,” Dean said waving to get her attention, “Sam’s right. You should come have Christmas with us instead of staying here by yourself.”

“But—”

“Don’t worry about Bobby. He’s always happy to have more people about, even if he grumbles about it. Old man knows a thing or two about loneliness. You’d be doing us a favor,” Dean continued.

“And you can bring your reading with you! Please say you will come,” Sam asked, turning his puppy dog eyes on an unprepared Eileen.

“For real, please. Else Sam will be impossible to live with,” Dean said, turning his own brand of charm on and aiming it towards Eileen with a wink. “Never let it be said that when Sam and me agree on something, it doesn’t come to pass.”

“Well… if you’re sure it’s okay…” Eileen hedged.

“It is,” Sam insisted, “absolutely.”

“Then, okay! Yes, I accept. Thank you,” she signed this as well as spoke it to emphasise her point. Eileen’s face was red, but her eyes shone with delight as she beamed at them. What’s more, Sam seemed to be vibrating with happiness as well. Dean felt a swell of affection for his younger brother. If only all of his problems could be resolved as easily and as painlessly as this. He needed to talk to Cas as soon as he was done with exams.

“Is this seat taken?”

Dean jumped at Cas’s husky voice so unexpectedly close to him. As if his thoughts about the man had magically summoned him to this very spot. The bratty and cynical part of his brain pointed out if that was the case, Cas would have already ended up in his bed. Dean gaped like a fish long enough that Sam was forced to intervene.

“It’s all yours, Castiel. Welcome!”

Cas hesitated for a moment, before Dean nodded his approval. Cas sat down next to Dean, their shoulders and knees brushing.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean finally managed to say, smiling at the man beside him. The man who had written him love poetry and virtually sang a lyric of a Christmas song to him that very morning. Of course, Cas didn’t know that it was, in fact, Dean that he was communicating with, but it still made Dean feel loved and wanted inside. What a world of difference twenty-four hours had made.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas smiled back at him.

Dean could not believe his luck, after weeks of more or less avoiding him, Cas had chosen to sit and talk with him, even sit close enough for them to touch. The other man looked a bit harried, but well overall. His hair was just as tousled and sexily unkempt as it usually was, no doubt due to Cas running his hands through it. Dean itched to run his own fingers through it again. Once would never be enough. The way Cas was looking at him, Dean suspected he agreed. Their knees brushed again under the table sending tendrils of electricity up Dean’s spine. Dean wondered, not for the first time, how the hell they could be this attracted to each other physically, mentally and spiritually and not yet be together. The snarky voice in his head once again chimed in reminding him that he was the only one who knew that all three of those things were true because Dean had been too chicken shit to just come out and say he was the Poet. He hadn’t even tried to text or call Cas again.

A cough finally broke the spell between them and Dean turned his head to see Sam smirking at him from across the table. Dean glared at his brother, promising retribution later, away from their audience.

“You don’t have any exams right, Castiel?” Sam asked, a picture of innocence. Eileen rolled her eyes.

“That’s right. I’m just invigilating the exams for the courses I TA for,” Cas responded, “but I imagine you have quite a few remaining?”

“Three,” Sam said at the same time as Eileen signed, “Nope. Just working on my thesis.”

“And you, Dean?” Cas asked turning to look at him again.

Dean smiled easily. “Just two left until I’m free and clear. No sweat.”

“Hopefully all of the work you’ve put into the play hasn’t detracted too much from your studying,” Cas said, looking around at the three of them. “As grateful as I am for all of your help, I would hate to be the cause of anyone failing an exam. They impact your future, after all.” He looked at Sam rather pointedly, suddenly a TA again, rather than a friend.

“But this play impacts yours,” Dean replied gently, attempting to draw Cas back into a more relaxed mood. “Don’t worry about us. We’ve got this, and we won’t let you down.”

Cas blinked a few times as Sam and Eileen nodded in agreement of Dean’s words. He ducked his head, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Thank you, all of you.”

“No problem!” Dean laughed and placed a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “What are friends for?” He might have let his hand linger ever so slightly longer than he should have before taking it back.

“As if you’re not getting paid to work on the play, Dean,” Sam snarked, “all you do is work— you’d probably work through Christmas if you thought Bobby would let you get away with it.”

Dean stilled in his seat, his hands clenched into fists momentarily. “I don’t need Bobby’s permission, Sam. Or yours.”

The smile vanished from Sam’s face at his tone. Dean hoped it would be enough to get Sam to drop the subject.

“Whatever, Dean.”

“Do you get time to do your own work while you’re invigilating, Castiel?” Eileen asked, diffusing the suddenly tense atmosphere at the table.

Dean was starting to really like this girl. He was glad Sam had invited her to Bobby’s for Christmas.

“I do get some work done, but a lot of what I’m responsible for is attentively watching for raised hands, marking the time, and stopping cheating… so it leaves a lot less opportunity for doing my own work than you might expect in a three-hour time frame,” Cas replied easily. “It’s not the best part about being a TA but it certainly isn’t the worst either.”

“What’s the best?” Dean asked, genuinely interested to hear Cas’s answer.

Cas paused, tilting his head in consideration before a small smile formed on his mouth. “Definitely the lightbulb moment, when you’ve said something in a discussion that really connects with a student and they light up with new realization, eager to apply it to other things they know and explore it in detail.”

“That’s wonderful, Castiel!” Eileen exclaimed, “Your students are lucky to have you!”

“Yeah, they are,” Dean agreed, making Cas blush.

“You have no idea.” Sam looked up earnestly. “Castiel’s classes are the best. Even when Professor Shurley’s content is really dry, Castiel has a way of drawing out the parts that really speak to me.”

“Every story is worth telling,” Cas said quietly so as not to interrupt Sam.

“And you always throw those little teasers into our discussions,” Sam was addressing Cas directly now, “that make us reevaluate our standpoints. So half the time I find that what I thought I was arguing for I was actually arguing against, because I hadn’t really been looking at all the angles up until that moment.”

Sam finished looking eager to dive into any text Cas might be willing to set him.

Cas was blushing, looking down at his hands modestly. “That’s very kind of you to say, Sam. But really, I’m just doing my job.”

“Well then all of the other TAs I’ve had, had no idea what the job entailed.” Sam smirked.

Dean grinned, Cas was adorable. This new proud little smile was definitely going to become one of Dean’s favorites. “That’s so like you, teaching folks to value learning and to reach for a deeper understanding of the world.”

“It’s no less valuable than knowing how the world actually works— the way you are able to translate an artistic need into a practical effect, and then create it with your hands is amazing, Dean.”

Dean felt his face heat. “It’s not much really, once you know the basics it’s just about finding new ways to put them to use. The building blocks of engineering are just like the building blocks of any other discipline. Like… writing, for example. When you started writing _Free Will_ you had the world you needed to create, the characters that populated it, and the story you wanted to tell. Once you had those things it was just a matter of making these elements work together. Someone else could take the same elements and make something completely different with it based on their own feelings and experiences. That play would be vastly different from yours, but would still be working with the same building blocks…”

Dean stalled out noticing the matching grins on Sam and Eileen’s faces and a look on Cas’s face he couldn’t quite place but definitely enjoyed. Was it a mix of hope and … desire?

“That’s very insightful of you, Dean,” Cas said, placing a hand on Dean’s arm, “Thank you for noticing.”

Dean shrugged and smiled. “Hey, I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“I know.”

Cas had responded so quietly that Dean wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard him right. But Cas was looking at him with that same look. Their eyes locked, and a smile ghosted over Cas’s face, his hand still on Dean’s arm.

Sam coughed and interrupted their staring again. “We should probably head out if we’re going to get to our exams on time, Dean.”

Dean blinked and hastily checked his watch. Shit. His exam was in ten minutes on the other side of campus. He smiled apologetically at Cas and placed his hand on top of Cas’s on his arm. “Sorry, duty calls!”

“Of course, Dean.” Cas removed his hand after Dean had lifted his. “Good luck to all of you,” Cas said, looking at each of them in turn.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean grinned. “But we don’t need luck, we just need to be brilliant!”

***

Four hours later Dean wasn’t so confident in his own brilliance. He’d rocked this afternoon’s exam, of course, but now, sitting and studying for his final exam tomorrow he found himself trying to compose another poem for Cas instead, and failing utterly. His brain was fried. He tapped a pencil against his desk, eyeing the textbook he’d discarded earlier in favor of the blank piece of paper in front of him. It was the first time he had tried to write a poem on paper instead of on his computer or his phone. But he knew that if he got his laptop out, the internet would drown him in content and he’d never get free.

_The joy that you bring_  
_Is really something_  
_So say you’ll be mine_  
_My sweet valentine_

Ugh. Cute, but it was nowhere near February. Dean moved down a few lines and started again.

_My heart fills with joy_  
_To know that I have_  
_Inspired in you_  
_These sins_  
_Know that I too,_  
_Feel them within_  
_And desire ….._

And desire what? To make them into reality? This poem was too serious a response to Cas’s latest, and he really needed to get back to studying. Dean moved down the page again. One last try.

_While I’m a fan of all the sins_  
_Especially when inspired in you_  
_Know that you create in me_  
_A joy that lifts me to the heavens_

None of it was any good. Dean sighed. His eyes were heavy. Maybe if he just closed them for a moment the page in front of him wouldn’t spin so much. He just needed to clear his mind and a poem would come to him as easily as it had before. Just a moment and then he could write the poem post it, and get back to studying. Yes. That was the plan. Dean lay his head down on his arms and closed his eyes. Just for a few moments.

Three hours later he woke with a start, swore, and dragged himself to his bed, shedding clothing as he went. He was asleep again before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? More than one poem in a chapter again?! :P At least you are more fortunate than Cas, who only gets to see the poems Dean posts instead of the ones he writes and then dismisses! (or writes, falls asleep and forgets to finish...)
> 
> So what are the odds that our boys are done avoiding each other? 
> 
> Looks like Eileen is coming home with the Winchesters for Christmas! <3


	22. Tuesday, December 17th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early today because I'm getting on a plane to visit Span!! <3

“How was it for you?” Victor asked, wriggling his brows as they left the exam together.

Dean’s broad grin was all the answer his friend needed.

“That good, huh?” He swatted Dean hard with a textbook, annoyed by his cockiness.

“I knew that all the work I put in on sine wave inversion would pay off. Mills hinted at it being important so I went over that chapter in detail. And sure enough! Not one but two questions,” Dean crowed.

“Well fuck you too, Winchester,” Victor said playfully, “glad you got lucky for once.”

“Gotta tell you, I think my luck’s changing, man.” Dean grinned, thinking about how Cas had turned up at lunch yesterday, and then the line of the song that he’d posted this morning

“Well, mine ain’t gonna change if I don’t pass my coding exam this afternoon,” Victor griped.

“Hitting the library?” Dean asked sympathetically.

Victor nodded.

“Well, good luck. See ya on the other side!” Dean gave his friend a supportive punch on the shoulder. “I’m heading to the theater, so I’ll see ya after the break.”

They parted to go their separate ways. “See you next year, man!” Victor threw over his shoulder to Dean.

“You too! Have a good Christmas!” Dean yelled at Victor’s departing back, eliciting a last farewell wave.

Dean practically bounced towards the Arts building. He’d nailed that last exam, and his other exams had gone pretty smoothly too. He really believed what he told Victor was true— he felt like his luck was finally changing. Not just with his studies and work, but with Cas too.

Yesterday’s lunch had made Dean incredibly happy, but the verse Cas had posted this morning had made him downright optimistic.

_On the sixth day of Christmas I willed my love to be: six feet of man and a smile that makes me weak at the knees._

That was him!

He made Cas weak at the knees.

Cas was practically admitting that he wanted the Poet to be Dean.

And who was Dean not to grant Cas his wish?!

He’d tell Cas tonight. Cas had already said that he would be at both rehearsals this week, so all Dean had to do was find an opportunity to get him alone during one of them and then who knew, maybe they’d be leaving together. Dean grinned.

***

Dean thought he arrived at rehearsal early, but from the crowd gathered on stage, everyone else seemed to have had the same idea. A warm, sweet smell wafted down the aisle and Dean quickly moved forward to have a look.

“Hey, Dean!” Jess called, “Castiel brought pies for everyone! Isn’t that awesome?”

Dean locked eyes with Cas, and he smiled. “Yeah, it really is. Thanks, Cas.”

“No… no problem, Dean. Please help yourself.”

Dean walked up the steps to the stage and found tables covered in mince pies. Everyone was happily eating and chatting amongst themselves. Eileen was making rapid motions with her hands, super excited to be indulging in the seasonal treat she had no doubt grown up with.

“You baked all of these, Cas?” Dean asked when he had finally come to stand next to the PHD student.

“Yes. I…thought it would be a good gift for everyone. Do you like mince pies, Dean? I wasn’t sure if you had tried them.” Cas handed him a plate with a pie on it, their fingers brushed momentarily, and Dean’s heart skipped a beat.

“I love all kinds of pie, Cas,” Dean said taking a breath, his eyes not leaving Cas’s, “Thank you.” He took a bite and a rush of sweet and spicy flavours filled his mouth. He chewed and savoured it. “Cas, these are amazing! Did you have to go to England to learn to cook these or something?!”

Cas lit up like a Christmas tree. It was enchanting. “I’m so glad you like them… And no, I just found the recipe online. Erm, I also baked a pecan as well, just in case…”

“Just in case?” Dean asked, popping the rest of the pie in his mouth. Did Cas really bake _him_ an extra pie just in case? He watched as a myriad of emotions crossed Cas’s face. It was nice to not be the one floundering for once.

“In case… _you_ didn’t like the mince pies.” Cas blushed as he nearly skipped over the “you” in that sentence. Dean did his best not to grin at Cas’s embarrassment.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean placed a hand on the other man’s arm as their gazes held. Was this his moment? He looked around, they were definitely not alone. As if to reinforce this truth, Professor MacLeod pushed herself between them.

“Och! Excuse me gentlemen. Don’t mind me grabbing a wee mince pie, my absolute favorite, I’ll have you know, Castiel. Would it be okay if I took one for my boy, Fergus? He’s rather partial to them with a whisky after work.”

Dean was torn between moving back so that he didn’t have to feel the professor’s nipples through the silky blouse she was wearing and not wanting to lose his chance to have a moment with Cas. Not that they were going to get to really talk right now. After Cas had gone to all of this trouble it’s not like he could pull him away to have a quiet chat. And Cas definitely deserved better than a whispered conversation in front of dozens of others. Dean needed to do better. After everything that had happened, he needed a grand gesture.

He took a step back sighing. At least he had his mouth full of pie.

“Fergus?” Cas asked. “As in Professor Fergus Crowley?” Cas asked, his eyes wide with surprise. “I had no idea you were together.”

“Och no, dearie! He’s my boy, my _son_,” Professor MacLeod explained.

Cas looked a little green. “Your son? That’s…nice.”

“Oh yes, and he thinks very highly of you, you know.”

Cas appeared to be choking on the bite of pie he’d just taken, so Dean decided it was time to step back into the conversation.

“Well, I don’t know about this Fergus dude, but I certainly think highly of your baking skills, Cas. These things are damn delicious.” _As are you_, Dean thought wistfully.

Cas gave him one of his secret smiles. Dean felt his heart swell.

“Thank you, Dean. I’m very pleased you like them.”

***

Three hours later Dean was at home on his computer doing the one thing he thought would finally mean enough. He was making Cas a mixtape. Or more accurately a mix USB stick, but the point was the same. It was a personal gift that took time and thoughtfulness to complete. It was about choosing the right words to express how he felt— hadn’t that been their thing from the beginning? He was sure that Cas would understand.

Benny hadn’t even laughed at him when he’d come home. Just nodded and said, “Good luck, brother.”

It had given Dean confidence, that and the poetry book “Wilderness” by Jim Morrison, just in case Cas didn’t understand the mixtape. Not unlike Cas baking him the just-in-case pie today. Dean felt warm and happy all over again losing many minutes reliving that moment. It had taken him the better part of an hour to call around to all of the local bookstores before he’d found a copy of the poetry book, not at a bookstore at all, but at Mills Records. He’d run out and grabbed it just before the store had closed.

Dean finished moving the songs over to the USB drive and tried to decide what to name it. He typed “Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx”. Well yeah, they were, some of them at least. But that wasn’t the point really. These songs weren’t about him, they were about Cas. About what he felt for Cas. The compilation need a name that said that. Why Dean was giving it to him. Dean looked blankly at his screen for another moment before he made a decision. He deleted _Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx_ and typed in _Love Songs for Castiel_. Yes. That was better. Accurate, and more specific. He ejected the USB and put it on top of the book of poetry, neatly wrapped in plaid print Christmas paper. He’d drop them off at Cas’s office tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LanaSerra: There seems to be a considerable effort being put into wooing on both sides now, wouldn't you say Span?
> 
> Spandwiches: So much wooing but not enough saying “Hi, I’m the poet. Wanna go make out?” Sigh. Still, baby steps, right, Lana?
> 
> LanaSerra: Absolutely! Every little bit helps <3


	23. Wednesday, December 18th - Castiel

Castiel collected all the papers from the desks, feeling decidedly relieved that the exam was over. The poor undergrads all looked exhausted. He was certainly tired, and he wasn’t the one who had been writing essays for the past three hours. He remembered only too well how grueling Literature exams had been. He’d already spent the morning overseeing the Renaissance Plays and Performance exam, another three hour slog, and wasn’t entirely convinced he’d make it through his meeting that evening without at least one cup of coffee. Thank god he was almost done here.

He neatly stacked the papers on the front desk, waiting for the students to be dismissed before he did the official count and signed off on the invigilation. Once they left, clamouring noisily outside the gymnasium, Castiel finished his administrative tasks and gathered everything up to take over to Crowley, who was, of course, the Professor setting this particular exam. It was a ten minute walk back to the Arts building from the sports complex where many of the English exams were being held, the gymnasiums being one of the few locations that were large enough to hold the number of undergraduates taking the most popular classes.

It was bitterly cold outside, the daylight had already mostly gone and a nasty wind blew the freezing rain into Castiel’s eyes and ears as he trudged across campus clutching the stack of exam scripts to his chest, bundled safely in their official plastic envelope. It had been horrible weather all week, but the temperature today had noticeably dropped and was made that much worse by the wind whipping at Castiel’s inadequately warm trench coat. By the time he’d reached Crowley’s office his fingers were numb and his nose and cheeks were red and burning from the sting of wind and rain.

“Finally.” Crowley looked up from his ostentatious mahogany desk and beckoned for Castiel to hand over the exam papers. “You’re very late with these.”

He began to rifle through the stack of essays. “And you didn’t bother to sort them by Student ID.” He threw them down on the far side of the desk in front of Castiel where they landed with a thump. “You can do it outside while I finish writing this email.”

Seriously? Castiel hadn’t had to sort the scripts by Student ID for any other exam he’d invigilated. He looked at Crowley, ready to argue his case, but the man was already tapping away at his keyboard and making a shooing gesture with one hand when Castiel didn’t immediately leave. Fine. He’d do it, just so that he could be done with it already and grab a coffee before his meeting.

He picked up the exams and left the office, sitting on the bench conveniently set outside Crowley’s office. It made him feel like he was a kid back in high school sitting outside the principal’s office. Not that he’d ever been sent to the principal’s office, Castiel had been far too conscientious a student for that, back when he still tried to make his parents proud and to win their approval. He began sorting them in ascending numerical order by Student ID, being thorough but also wanting to get away as soon as possible. That cup of coffee was looking less and less likely by the second, the closer it got to five o’clock. He knew Marv wouldn’t wait for him, and as much as he hated Dr. Metatron he needed to pick his brain on narrative subplot before the vacation began. Plus this was the only evening Marv was available to meet with Castiel.

Finally the papers were in order and Castiel reentered Crowley’s office, handing the stack back to the Professor.

“Good.”

Not thanks. 

“Well. Novak. I’d say it has been a pleasure to work with you this term, but we both know that it hasn’t been. I’ll refer you for another TA position if you want, but please don’t consider applying to any of my classes again.”

Castiel stood aghast. What an almighty asshat. He’d done everything that Crowley had asked of him, far more than what he’d been expected to do for any other professor he’d TAed for. What was this man’s problem? Was he just plain mean?

“You can leave now,” Crowley said by way of a goodbye.

Castiel, still too furious to respond, decided that this was by far his best course of action. Fuck Fergus Crowley. He couldn’t quite reconcile how this man was related to Rowena. Sure, they both had a flare for the dramatic, and could be somewhat difficult to deal with, but Rowena was charming and personable for the most part. Crowley, on the other hand, was positively demonic. 

He looked at his watch, it was minutes before five.

He hurried through the labyrinth of offices that made up the Arts building, trying to remember where Doctor Metatron’s rooms were. He peered through the small window of the room he thought belonged to Marv, but it didn’t look right. Shit. Castiel realized he was one floor down. Marv was room 302, not 203. He hurried back to the elevator and banged the call button impatiently. Argh! He didn’t have time for this. He ran down the hall to the stairwell and proceeded to take the stairs two at a time.

Room 302. This was it. The door was propped open and Castiel sighed in relief, double checking his watch. 5:03. He walked into the room and found a member of the janitorial staff emptying the trash can.

“Oh, hello. Could you please tell me, is Doctor Metatron here?” Castiel asked, gesturing to the adjoining office.

“Metatron? No, sugar, you just missed him. Left minutes ago. Surprised you didn’t see him in the elevator.”

Fuck.

Castiel could feel himself beginning to spiral and forced himself to take a few deep breaths as he forced a smile.

“Well, thank you all the same. Happy Holidays,” he said politely to the janitor, and headed back towards the elevators.

How had he managed to miss him? By minutes! If he hadn’t taken the damn stairs he probably would have bumped into Marv coming down. Maybe. It was all Crowley’s fault. That asshat had held him up at least fifteen minutes and he’d already been delayed by the exam running over. Which had been all Crowley’s fault too: he’d spent an unusually long time going over the exam rules once all the students were seated, not letting them turn over their question books to begin the exam until he’d reiterated the penalties for plagiarism in nauseating detail. The exam had started ten minutes late above and beyond the usual allotted time for preliminary instructions. 

Castiel was fuming, storming just as much as the weather outside. It was still blowing hard and the freezing rain was now distinctly sleet-like, cutting through the darkness angrily. Castiel ducked his head and stomped in the direction of home. 

“Woah! Cas!”

Dean. Where had he come from? Castiel looked up and took in Dean’s pink cheeks and wet hair. Why was he out in the storm?

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas, you okay?” Dean was looking at him with obvious concern. He must look as wild as he felt.

“Yes, fine.” He paused to wipe his eyes, realizing that the stinging wetness was as much from tears as it was from the sleet. “No,” he admitted, “I’ve had a terrible day. I just want to go home.”

“Come on,” Dean tugged at his arm, “I’ve got my car. I’ll give you a ride.”

Castiel followed him through campus, dark and miserable in the storm, to where he was presumably parked.

Dean stopped in one of the student lots in front of the most impressive car Castiel had ever seen. It looked like it was made for a night like this. Solid and black and shining beneath the overhead lamps of the parking lot. The chrome accents sparkled like sunlight on ice. Dean pulled his keys out of his jacket and unlocked the passenger door for Castiel, before moving to the driver’s side to unlock his own door. 

Inside the car the storm was muffled and the pale leather seats were cool but comforting beneath Castiel’s touch. It smelled like heaven. Like Dean. Castiel shook his head, dismissing the thought, and sent a shower of droplets over the dash and Dean as he did so.

“I’m so sorry!” He made to wipe the drips scattered over the lustrously polished dashboard.

Dean laughed, the sound raising the interior temperature of the car by several degrees. “’S all good, Cas,” Dean said, shaking himself off a little too and putting the key in the ignition, “my Baby can handle a whole lot more than a little sprinkle.”

“Your car is quite lovely,” Castiel admitted.

“Knew there was a reason I liked you!” Dean grinned at him and started the engine, the car suddenly growling to life.

“Oh!” Castiel could feel the rumble of her engine shiver through him as Dean began to expertly back out of his parking spot. He drove in silence, carefully maneuvering through evening traffic, no doubt worse than usual due to the inclement weather.

Eventually Dean asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

Castiel silently debated the question. Not really. It would only get him riled up again, and he needed to focus on how he was going to get answers to the questions he wanted to discuss with Marv, rather than dwelling on the fact that he hadn’t got to ask them.

“I’m sorry you had to find me like this, Dean,” he said instead, “and I really appreciate you driving me home. Again.” He blushed slightly, remembering the last time they’d been in a car together.

“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and after all, what are friends for?”

It wasn’t particularly far to Castiel’s house and Dean was already turning onto his street.

“The one with the hedge, yeah?” Dean asked him.

“You have an excellent memory.”

“Er, well….”

“It was memorable,” Castiel supplied.

“Yeah, Cas, about that…” Dean pulled up outside his house.

“AhhhCHOOOO!” 

Castiel sent more drips flying as his head jerked forward with the violence of the sneeze.

“Hey, Buddy. You’re not getting—”

“Ahhhchoooo!”

Castiel sneezed again.

“Hey, go get inside and warm up. Make yourself something hot, take a shower, yeah?” Dean told him, his voice full of concern. “Don’t want to get sick right before Christmas.”

Castiel nodded a little pathetically, worried he was going to sneeze again and give Dean and his beautiful car yet another shower.

“Thank you, Dean. I will.” He unbuckled himself and opened the door, holding on against the gust of wind that threatened to whip it from his grasp. “See you are rehearsal tomorrow!” He shouted through the gale, and noted Dean’s nod and wave although didn’t hear his reply over the wind whistling in his ears. He slammed the door with a wave of his own and headed inside.

***

After some soup, a hot shower, an extremely productive call to Balthazar and several cups of Lemon Ginger tea, Castiel was finally in bed reading a book of poems.

Poems. He hadn’t posted a line of the song for the Poet today.

He sat for several minutes, not coming up with anything he wanted to say. It didn’t help matters that his mind kept drifting back to Dean— how kind he’d been, and how gorgeous he was in that big, beautiful, fierce car of his.

Ugh, it was no good. He wasn’t going to think of anything witty or flattering to post tonight. It had just been a bad day all round. Other than Dean. Maybe he should stop trying so hard. Just let fate run its course. 

He took out his phone and navigated to 300cc.

_On the seventh day of Christmas nothing clever came to me. And the weather fucking sucks._

Sometimes you just had to tell it like it was.

He set his book and his phone on the nightstand, turned out the light and vowed to start afresh tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These boys just can't catch a break can they?  
Poor Cas, if only someone would do something nice for him!
> 
> Span and I are off to spend Day 2 at Geek Girl Con! <3
> 
> Happy Sunday everyone~


	24. Thursday, December 19th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all having good Tuesdays, or had good Tuesdays, depending on your time zone...! LanaSerra and I are recovering from our wonderful Con weekend, although are rather sad at being separated by 600 or so miles of mostly mountains again. Still, we do have a chapter for you. Grin.

Dean had rushed home that night knowing that he had a new mission. Since Cas wouldn’t find the gifts Dean that had left in his office until the following day, he still had time to adjust his plan. A quick check of 300cc to read Cas’s new poem only solidified his resolve to make him feel better. He’d get eight things for the eighth day of Christmas. He’d called Charlie in a panic asking for ideas as to what he could get, and Benny had walked in, paused to eavesdrop, and had quickly cut in with, “Well obviously wine, chocolate, and flowers. The classics are classic for a reason, brother.”

Dean had readily agreed and picked out a high-end local grocer where he could get all three of those items early the next morning. Charlie had suggested he give Cas a scarf to keep him warm, a travel mug for his coffee— she's found one that said "Show Me the Honey" on it at a local bookstore— and some honey because Cas loved bees.

“Cas loves bees?” How had Dean failed learn this? He felt a surge of irrational jealousy that Charlie knew secrets about Cas that he didn’t.

“Yes, dumbass. He does. I know because whenever we’ve met to discuss the promo material over coffee, Castiel always orders his with honey. I made the mistake of asking him about it and was subjected to twenty minute diatribe on the delights of the hive.”

Dean sighed, wistfully.

“I can hear you swooning, Dean.”

“Was not.”

“Was too.”

“Okay! Okay, fine, that’s a great suggestion. I can get him honey.”

In fact, Dean knew just who to ask. During his first year he had developed a _thing_ for one of his professors. A thing that had lead him to finding out that said professor was a beekeeper who regularly brought his honey to the local farmer’s market. Dean blushed in remembrance, as his freshly uncloseted bi-self had been so blatant in his admiration and desire for the professor it had been downright embarrassing. It was a wonder the professor had not been reprimanded for inappropriate conduct with a student. Not that they had done anything together in the strictest sense, but Dean had pushed the line frequently. Professor Cain had been really good about it actually, not making a spectacle of Dean in class nor completely crushing him when he’d let him down. After all, they were decades apart in age and anything that happened between them would have been extremely inappropriate due to their student-teacher relationship. Professor Cain had been unwavering in his belief about abuse of power. It had really changed the way Dean looked at the world, and they had parted amicably after the class was over.

A quick email reinforced what a cool guy Professor Cain really was— he readily agreed to bring him a jar of honey the next day, and expressed his happiness over Dean finding someone his own age.

Charlie had offered to grab the scarf, the “show me the honey” bee mug for him and meet him outside Cas’s office the next morning. He’d been able to sneak in while a janitor was cleaning the day before, offices were only cleaned at the end of each day instead of in the morning when he would need to get in, so Charlie had even devised a plan to get them in. He figured he didn’t need to know the particular details of that until it was absolutely necessary. But honestly, he didn’t know what he would have done without her, and she had laughed and responded that he’d probably die.

Dean tossed and turned all night, anxious to put his plan into action, but unable to do anything until the stores opened in the morning. He rushed from place to place finding that he had to wait at every turn, making him more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. He was waiting outside the grocery store when it opened, waiting outside Professor Cain’s office when the older man arrived and waiting outside Cas’s office for Charlie to arrive.

“You got everything?” He asked Charlie by way of a greeting when he finally spotted her coming down the hallway towards him.

“Yes, Dean. I have everything.”

“You found a blue scarf?”

“Yes, Dean. The color you described. I texted you the picture.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Now stop stressing and come on!” Charlie had worked some sort of magic to obtain a master key, and let them both in to the small, cramped office. It was cluttered but not messy, just as it had been the evening before. Dean added the new gifts and arranged everything neatly on Cas’s desk— an array of precious items— and double checked his list just before he left, to make sure he had gotten everything:

  * _<s>Mixtape</s> MixUSB_
  * _“Wilderness” A book of poems by Jim Morrison_
  * _Honey <s>from the local farmer’s market</s>, from Professor’s Cain’s prized collection_
  * _Mini bottle of wine (red - that's what he was drinking at Friendsgiving)_
  * _Chocolate covered hazelnuts_
  * _<s>Flowers</s> Orange Spray Roses (representing desire and enthusiasm)_
  * _Travel Mug (Show Me the Honey)_
  * _Blue Scarf (that matches his eyes)_
  * _A card signed <s>Dean</s> “the Poet”_

Dean had gone back and forth on how he should sign the card, but in the end, decided that this wasn't how he wanted to tell Cas he was the Poet. This was a gift, with no strings attached, simply to cheer Cas up, nothing to do with the poems or who the Poet was, and Dean certainly didn’t expect anything in return. Staying anonymous was the best way to ensure that Cas realized that.

Dean still hoped he'd done the right thing. The anxiety must have shown on his face, as Charlie elbowed him meaningfully. “Don’t worry, Dean, he’s gonna love it.” Charlie smiled at him reassuringly. “Huh, no cell reception down here at all. You done?”

Dean took one last look. “Yes. Thanks for all your help, Charlie.”

“Anytime, Handmaiden.” Charlie smiled and hugged him. “I’d tell you to let me know how it goes, but I feel like Castiel will let me know first on 300cc!”

Dean laughed and hugged her back. Dean glanced at his phone. Shit. He didn’t have time to breathe, he was supposed to be at the garage in fifteen minutes!

It had been a whirlwind of activity, and now it was done. He’d only had to bribe _one_ janitor not to tell on him. He wasn’t sure if it was his puppy dog eyes or Charlie’s insistence that it was all in the name of true love that had eventually won her over. (Or maybe it was just the twenty he’d slipped her.)

They hurried out of the Arts building together, and parted with a hug. Charlie headed towards the Computer Sciences building while Dean headed to the garage for work.

***

Rufus had confiscated his phone twenty minutes into his shift after Dean couldn’t stop checking for an update from Cas. He had complained initially but then let it go, and sunk into the calm that working on cars granted him. Three hours later, he was waist-deep in a beautiful 1969 Boss 429 Mustang, with "Good Times, Bad Times" playing on the radio when Rufus had tapped on the hood and handed him back his phone.

“Hey! Watch the paint” Dean complained. It was a nice car, not as nice as his Baby, of course, but still a real looker. A real American muscle car— a lady that needed to be treated properly.

“Go eat lunch, kid.” Rufus rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grabbed a cloth and wiped his hands as well as he could before picking up his phone which Rufus had left on the roof. Despite being in a haze of music and cars for the past three hours, his fingers were as quick as ever to pull up and refresh 300cc. And he wasn’t disappointed. There at the top was Cas’s response.

_On the eighth day of Christmas the Poet left for me: eight thoughtful presents. Thank you! I love them, honey is my favorite._

Dean punched the air triumphantly. That sounded like a happy Cas. His chest tightened with the joy of knowing he was the cause of that happiness, the feeling of warmth flooding through him. All he wanted to do was make Cas happy and hopefully, when he told Cas that evening that he was the Poet and that the gifts were from him, that happiness would continue. For both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super Dean to the rescue!!
> 
> Just in case you wanted to see what he gave to Castiel, here is the [book of poetry](https://www.amazon.com/Wilderness-Lost-Writings-Jim-Morrison/dp/0679726225/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1ALYLC3AVWUI2&keywords=wilderness+jim+morrison&qid=1574205073&sprefix=wilderness+Jim+mo%2Caps%2C184&sr=8-1), the [roses](https://i.imgur.com/DZmzElo.jpg), and the [travel mug](https://www.teepublic.com/mug/3035226-show-me-the-honey-honeybee-shirt-save-the-bees-fun) (defaults to the coffee mug). We had a lot of fun choosing them. Grin.


	25. Thursday, December 19th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to hear what Castiel thought of all his gifts? Let’s push on with the story!

The scarf was amazingly soft. Castiel wrapped it more snugly around his face, breathing in the scent of the wool and trying to imagine it was the Poet he smelled on it instead. It was also delightfully warm. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked across campus and not felt his cheeks burned by the chill of the wind. Now he buried his nose into the scarf and smiled happily, wondering what kind of wool it could be to make it so soft. It felt like he was wearing a cloud.

The gifts had all been so sweet. Eight for the eight days of Christmas, he assumed. And not throwaway things either; mere fillers. No, these had been proper, thought out gifts. Yes, some of them had been typical tokens of courtship— the wine and flowers— but others had obviously been carefully selected for his specific likes.

Castiel’s smile broadened, thinking about how he’d spent the whole of his lunch break reading the book of poems. He wasn’t really familiar with The Doors’ music, but he had heard of them, and had known who Jim Morrison was. He’d had no idea what an incredibly visual poet he was though. Powerful imagery. At times barren and bleak— a wasteland— but at others rich and sensual. Castiel fancied he understood some of his mystery poet’s lines just a little better now.

He had everything tucked carefully away into his messenger bag, everything except the flowers, which he’d decided to leave on his desk because they cheered the room up, cheered him up, so much. The tiny perfect blooms, a lovely peach color that flushed to a deep orange at the tips were not the sort of flowers one would typically choose to gift as romantic gesture. Castiel had been intrigued enough to look up flower meanings online and had discovered that orange roses symbolized desire and enthusiasm. The memory made him laugh all over again. That certainly described his poet. Who would do something so kind, so sweet, so thoughtful? Someone incredibly special. But Castiel knew that already. And whoever it was, definitely knew him, to pick such perfect gifts. How had they known that he liked chocolate well enough, but that chocolate covered hazelnuts were far more of a treat than a box of truffles? If Castiel hadn’t already admitted to himself that he was smitten with the Poet, he definitely wouldn’t be able to deny it now. Not to mention that this confirmed, once and for all, that every single one of those poems was definitely meant specifically for him.

He walked into the theater smiling happily to himself, reluctantly unwinding the scarf and heading over to where Meg was sitting getting ready for the scenes she wanted them all to work on that evening.

“Hello, Lover Boy.” She smirked up at him. “Nice scarf. A gift from someone special?”

Castiel decided the best policy was to completely ignore her attempts to goad him. “Hello, Meg. What did you think of the rewrites?”

“Good. Better than good. I think you’ve improved the scene greatly. Having Diana just say 'I prayed to you, every night!' is so much stronger than having her get all pissy at Celeste. I mean, sure, she is still angry, but now we feel her pain too. That sense of betrayal tied to devotion is really powerful.”

Thank god. She’d taken the bait. He was quite pleased with the changes he’d made as well, so he was glad Meg approved and he wouldn’t have to fight her to keep the new lines.

They sat and talked through the rest of the scene while the cast and crew trickled in. Finally everyone was there and they started the rehearsal in earnest. Castiel watched how Claire played the new lines, knowing he’d made the right decision to change it when she sunk to her knees, grasping the long coat that Kaia wore as Celeste and looking up at her imploringly. These two were incredible. The chemistry between them was perfect. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to the smouldering looks the two women shared than just his stage directions. 

This needed a spotlight, the lights all around them dimmed, removing the world beyond the focus of their shared gaze. There should be no doubt in anyone’s mind that Diana only existed for Celeste in this moment.

As if he had willed it to be so, the spotlights came on, moving over to where Claire knelt at Kaia’s feet, Eileen’s set rapidly fading into shadow behind them. 

Dean.

He’d recognized the significance. Castiel sighed happily, once again sending a silent “thank you” in Charlie’s direction for delivering Dean to him. He’d have to thank her properly at some point. He sat back and watched, enjoying the run-through. Everyone seemed to be giving one last concerted effort before the holidays and it showed. No one fudged lines, and Meg piled much-deserved praise on the cast. 

“This was really good. Now I need you all to commit to learning every scene like you’ve nailed this one. You have the whole of the break to get your lines down pat. Mark every cue, every entrance or exit. We will be doing full run-throughs every Sunday starting in January, so I want you to be ready to push through those without having to stop to wait for someone who forgot to show up for their scene!” Meg glowered at everyone, ensuring they knew her current praise didn’t mean that she was going to go easy on them in the future. “Rest up, enjoy the break and be back here owning your parts come the start of next term. Okay?! Good work, everyone. Happy Holidays.”

The dismissal was effective and people started to gather their belongings and bundle up to face the cold outside.

Castiel looked around for Dean, wanting to tell him how much he thought the lighting had been perfect to set the mood for the scene, so that Dean knew to write it into his script. Castiel spotted him heading down the central aisle from the lighting box at the back of the theater. 

Dean’s face lit up when their eyes connected and he smiled, making his way through the milling groups of people, who were beginning to head out, in order to get to Castiel. “Cas! Just the person I wanted to see.” Dean fidgeted restlessly as he spoke, shifting from one foot to another and bouncing slightly on his heels. Castiel couldn’t help thinking that it was rather charming.

“Hello, Dean. I was hoping to see you too.” He could feel his face flushing and hurried on, not wanting Dean to notice. “I, um, wanted to thank you for before— with the spotlight. It’s perfect. Exactly what I was going for with the mood in the scene.”

“Oh! Yeah. I figured it was one of those moments where the world just… falls away.” Dean was forced to move closer to Castiel as someone passed behind him up the aisle to the exit. Their eyes connected once more, but they were now much closer. “And the only thing that exists is the other person.”

Castiel could feel his heart beating in his ears. He tried to tell himself it was because of how accurately Dean had understood the scene (and therefore Castiel himself) and how he had described it so eloquently. But he had to admit that it might also have something to do with how tantalizingly close the other man was to him now. He could only hope that he found the Poet even fractionally as attractive as he found Dean. 

Castiel took a deep, steadying breath to compose himself. “That’s exactly—”

He was cut off by a flurry of noise and activity on the stage.

“After everything, THIS is how you treat me!?” Jessica’s voice rang out across the theater, interrupting not only his and Dean’s conversation, but any remaining conversations as well. The woman could certainly project.

Jessica had Sam backed up against one of the prop walls, her long limbs caging him. 

“Jess….” Sam tried, but Jessica wasn’t having it.

“No Sam, don’t _Jess_ me! I thought we had something, and then I find out you invited another woman to spend Christmas with you?!”

“She didn’t have a place to go!!” Sam explained, holding his hands up defensively.

“Oh, so you don’t want to sleep with her, then?” Jessica asked shrewdly. 

Sam went red in the face as his eyes flicked between the woman in front of him and Eileen, standing just off stage watching the whole thing. Castiel didn’t know how much of the conversation Eileen had caught, but Jessica’s body language spoke volumes. Even if Eileen wasn’t able to read her lips from that distance, she was clearly upset by the scene presently unfolding.

Castiel knew that it wasn’t uncommon for productions of this size— or any size, really— to have as much drama off stage as on it, but outside of the poems he and the Poet had been exchanging, this was really the first spectacle he’d seen from the group. If things really went badly it might cause serious problems for the play. There was no way an actor, even one with a fairly minor role like the ones Sam and Jessica both played, could be replaced at this stage in the production. They’d put in too much work already. This needed to be resolved amicably, and quickly too. 

“Cas.”

The sound of Dean’s voice drew Castiel’s attention to where (and with whom) he was standing.

“Look, er, I… I really need to talk to you… but I gotta go defuse a bomb.” Dean’s gaze shifted back and forth from Castiel to the escalating situation on the stage.

He smiled at Dean, thankful that, once again that evening, they seemed to be of the same mind. “Go. We’ll talk later.” 

Dean looked at him for a moment longer, as if there was something more he was going to say, but then he nodded once before jogging down the aisle and up the stairs onto the stage. 

Castiel couldn’t help but observe the argument as he began to tidy up his own belongings. It was like trying not to watch a car wreck happening in slow motion. Sam seemed to have physically diminished in size, trying to escape Jessica’s wrath. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jessica snarled. “Just how many women are you seeing Sam? Two? Three? More?” She turned to look at Eileen, possibly so that the other woman could see her face. “Hey, Eileen. Did you know he was seeing me as well?”

“Woah! That’s kinda strong, Jess,” Dean stepped into the space between the love triangle. 

“This has nothing to do with you, Dean,” Jessica snapped. 

“The hell it doesn’t! You’re calling my brother a liar and a cheat!” 

“She’s right, Dean. Stay out of this!” Sam barked.

“But you’re not dating Eileen, right Sam?” Castiel knew Dean was trying extra hard to be diplomatic if he was forgoing using Sam’s childhood nickname.

Sam glowered but nodded, not seeming to notice that Dean had completely ignored his previous request to stay out of the argument. “Right. I said I would focus on my studies and I have been!” Sam said, his jaw clenched.

“But you know he calls me every night to talk?” Jessica continued conversationally to Eileen as if she hadn’t just been interrupted.

“Nope,” Eileen said, “but honestly, your name doesn’t really come up while Sam and I are having lunch together. Every day.”

Castiel quickly turned his face away from the stage to hide his grin. That was such a good line, he wondered if he could work it into the play somehow. And Eileen could deliver. Too bad she was working backstage instead of center stage. 

But Jessica wasn’t backing down, and if looks could kill, both Eileen and Sam would have already dropped dead. Apparently Jessica hadn’t appreciated the line half as much as he had. Castiel made a mental note not to cross Jessica if he could help it. 

He noticed Eileen shrug but hold her ground, while Sam seemed to be trying to inch further away from both of them. His gaze shifted to Dean, who looked focused, clearly trying to get control of the situation and discreetly moving in front of his brother. 

“Now look,” Dean was facing Eileen so that she could read his lips, but made it clear he was talking to Jessica too, “has Sam actually asked either of you out, officially? Said that you and he were exclusive? Or have you even discussed being together, as a couple?” Dean pointedly looked at each of them in turn, drawing their attention away from Sam, who looked hugely relieved at the respite. 

Castiel wondered if Dean was simply gambling that Sam hadn’t made anything official, or if he actually knew? He knew the brothers were close, but would Sam have revealed his personal conversations to Dean? (And if so, did that mean that Sam knew that he and Dean had kissed on Thanksgiving? Castiel felt a wave of panic wash over him.) Perhaps Sam had decided to be exclusive with one of the women without telling the other? Or possibly suggested something to that effect? Castiel had no idea. He’d seen Sam with both of them.

Eileen was the first to answer. “No. He wasn’t ever specific,” she agreed, “Sam was just generally flirty.”

So apparently both brothers were apt to flirt, Castiel mused before his attention was pulled back to Jessica.

“No, not _specifically_!” Her tone was scathing. “But I thought it was a given! We spend so much time rehearsing and talking on the phone. I felt like we were already there in all but name!” 

Sam ducked his head guiltily, a slight blush on his cheeks. 

Castiel noticed Dean’s shoulders drop ever so slightly in relief. It had been a gamble then. Interesting.

“Now, I know that isn’t necessarily the best behaviour, something that I’m sure Sam will apologize for,” Dean glared at his brother, who nodded, “but I think we can all agree that flirting and spending time with someone isn’t cheating if everyone is single?” 

Jessica huffed, but conceded. “No. It isn’t.”

“Sam can talk with whomever he wants,” Eileen responded.

“So you would agree, Jessica, that my brother is neither a liar nor a cheat, even if he has been acting like a dumbass.”

Jessica scowled, still clearly upset. “Fine. I take it back.”

“Good.” Dean nodded. “Sam?” he growled, glaring at his brother. Castiel could not contain the full body shiver that accompanied that growl, even if it hadn’t been directed at him. Dean in command was something to behold.

“I’m sorry if I led either of you on. You’re both just really awesome and interesting people that I enjoy spending time with.” Sam said sincerely, looking contrite. That must be what Dean had referred to when he’d talked about Sam’s “Puppy Dog Look”. Sam’s head hung low and his eyes were wide and slightly sad. It was a dangerous look. Castiel was sure that he wouldn’t be able to stay angry at Sam for very long if he were on the receiving end. He wondered if it was that look that had convinced Meg to cast a freshman for the role of Zachariah in the first place.

From the smug expression he was wearing, Castiel guessed that Dean knew exactly what that look did to people. He’d probably fallen victim to it on many occasions. Castiel just hoped that it would have a similar effect on the two women on stage. 

“I like spending time with you too, Sam.” Eileen smiled at him.

“Same. I just thought…” Jessica’s anger seemed to have dissolved into sadness and Castiel’s heart went out to her— he knew only too well what it felt like to feel more for someone than they felt for you. 

She shook her head.

“I know. I’m sorry, Jess.” Sam reached out trying to make some sort of contact with her, but Jessica moved away from him, clearly too hurt to want any contact or comfort from Sam at that moment. 

“I… I have to go.” Jessica wiped her eyes, picked up her bag and was off the stage, up the aisle and out the door before anyone had time to process. 

“Come on, Sammy, let’s get you home.” Dean clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He turned and pointed at Eileen. “And you, don’t think you got out of joining us for Christmas, okay? I expect you to be ready to go when I pick you up on Monday. The invitation was from me as much as it was from this Moose.”

Eileen grinned at him. “Yes, sir.”

Castiel stared in wonder as the three made their way to the exit.

Dean turned and spoke quietly to him as they passed. “Sorry ‘bout this, Cas. Chat later?”

He nodded, suddenly unable to form words. 

Dean had nothing to be sorry about. He had been cool, calm and collected, resolved the dispute without violence and de-escalated it as quickly as it had started. He’d challenged their expectations, and had bet (correctly) on his brother having done the right thing. 

In all honesty, it had been incredibly arousing to watch. 

Castiel glanced around and saw that everyone else was also doing their best to leave as unobtrusively as possible. He sighed, pulling on his trench coat, shouldering his messenger bag and wrapping the soft blue scarf around his neck, feeling more than a little guilty for getting quite so turned on by one Dean Winchester taking control and coming out on top.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmm. We feel the same, Castiel, we feel the same.
> 
> But Oh, Universe! (aka Sam), cut them some slack will ya?! He he he.
> 
> More on Sunday.


	26. Thursday, December 19th - Dean

Sam had been quiet the whole trip back to his dorm and Dean had let him stew. His brother had been playing with fire. Honestly, it was lucky that Jessica had brought it up before they had all gotten burned. Poor girl was in love though, no doubt about it.

If Sam was surprised when Dean followed him inside he didn’t show it. Lucky enough, Sam’s stuffy roommate Ketch wasn’t in when they got there. Good thing too, Dean thought, dude was a total dick. He didn’t know how Sam put up with the guy. They spent hours discussing history and politics, apparently.

Dean grabbed Sam’s desk chair and made himself comfortable while Sam sat down heavily on the bed.

“Thanks for your help, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, you better be grateful, those women were going to eat you alive. And that little fiasco cockblocked my confession to Cas. So that’s two you owe me now.”

Sam’s eyes went wide. “You were going to… Oh my god, Dean. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that they would…”

“Yeah you did, Sam. This confrontation was always going to happen, it was just a matter of when.”

Sam hung his head. “You’re right. I’ve ruined everything.”

“Well let’s not go that far. Eileen is still coming for Christmas.” Dean kicked Sam, not particularly gently. “I like her. She’s feisty.” Dean grinned at his brother before his face dropped. “And Cas…” Dean ran his hands through his hair, sitting back into the chair. “Well, telling Cas has kept for this long. What’s another day, right?”

“No, Dean! Don’t do that. You need to call him right now! After you spent all that time and energy getting him those gifts yesterday?”

“How d’you know—”

“Everyone who reads 300cc knows that Castiel received some 'thoughtful gifts', Dean.”

Dean shook his head despairingly. Of course they did.

“But telling Cas— It’s kind of something I wanted to do in person…”

“Dean, stop making excuses and just _tell him!_” Sam glowered at him.

“Fine, fine, don’t get your panties in a bunch. I will call him— in the hallway— while you think about what you’re going to do about Jessica.”

Sam rolled his eyes but nodded, and shooed Dean out the door.

The door clicked behind him and Dean came face to face with the bustle and sound that was a freshman dorm. He sighed and resigned himself to finding a place farther away from Sam to make his call. Most of the sound was travelling down the hallway from opened doors and the large common room at the end of the hall. Maybe it would be quieter down in the lobby. Dean turned the other way and walked back towards the elevators. He pressed the call button and checked through his feeds as he waited anxiously. When it finally came, the elevator frustratingly seemed to stop at every floor on the way down. Finally at the lobby he was met with yet more noise, people loudly coming and going, so decided to brave the cold outside. He finally managed to find some level of quiet next to a nearby tree and quickly pulled up Cas’s number. He paced as it rang. And rang. And rang. Finally the line connected.

“The voice mailbox you are trying to reach is full. Please call back and try again later.”

He quickly tried sending a text message, but got the same error as he had the first time.

Son of a bitch.

**Friday, December 20th**

Dean had spent the vast majority of his evening with Sam, before heading home and crashing onto his bed face first, much too late for his early start at the garage. Rufus had nearly skinned his hide when he’d practically dozed off under 5700 pounds of 1967 Lincoln Continental.

He’d drunk a fuck load of coffee after that.

Sometime during his third coffee break of the morning, he started humming the Twelve Days of Christmas song, which inevitably drove him to check 300cc. Cas hadn’t posted yet, but it was still fairly early in the day. He went back to working on the Lincoln’s engine, still humming the song. He wondered if Cas could hold a tune. The man’s voice was fucking sinful. Dean could only dream about what he’d sound like singing, deep and husky. He quietly sang a few lines under his breath, trying to imagine what it would sound like to hear Cas’s voice alongside his own.

Maybe he should write today’s line. Would Cas get upset if he jumped in? Or would he be thrilled that the Poet was still participating? Cas obviously knew that the Poet was still interested after all of those presents, but it had been a couple of days since Dean had last posted. He didn’t want to usurp Cas. But then again, maybe by posting, he would take the pressure off Cas to come up with something? He hummed the song more deliberately, trying to compose in his head. It was a surprisingly hard song to match.

Fifteen minutes (and the entirety of his break) later, Dean was frustrated by his lack of progress, (definitely, _definitely_ not his lack of musical skill), but typed out what he’d come up with anyways. He was definitely doing Cas a solid, this shit was _hard_. Dean hit submit, put his phone away, pushed his Cas-related thoughts to the back of his mind and once again rolled under the death trap that was the ‘67 Continental.

***

By the time he got home he was exhausted but wired, and found himself thinking about everything that kept getting in the way of him telling Cas who he was and how he felt. He’d tried to text again a few times that morning but had kept getting the error back, then he’d tried calling during his lunch break and after work, but each time received the same voicemail message telling him that Cas really needed to check and clear his goddamn voicemail messages already.

Dean sent a mental thank you to Benny, who had graciously left him a fridge full of restaurant-quality food, which not only matched his appetite but also his desire not to cook. He’d never again tease Benny for having such shit hours, or for coming home smelling of all kinds of funky things. Or at least he could give him a what, solid two? three? Days of no teasing. Surely. After a leisurely but thorough feast, Dean finally made it to his bed where he crashed face-first.

Sleep was not yet welcome however and Dean groaned, rolled over, and pulled out his phone. As per his new habit, 300cc was the first thing he checked. Cas hadn’t yet responded to his post.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try Cas one more time.

Dean opened the phone app and pressed Cas’s number, taking a few deep breaths while he waited for it to connect. Unlike the last couple of times he called, however, this time Cas’s voice answered after the first ring.

“Hello?”

Dean was so shocked he forgot to respond.

“Hello?”

“Oh hey, Cas, it’s Dean.”

“Hello, Dean” Cas responded, his rich baritone filled with warmth. “I’m so happy you called.”

Dean’s chest grew tight and his head spun with possibility, with hope. “I tried calling before but every time I’ve gotten your voicemail box instead— which is full by the way, man, you should take care of that.”

“Oh! Yes. I will take care of it. Thank you. Is your brother okay?”

“Yeah, Sammy’s fine. Has to make some hard decisions of course, but he’s not drowning himself in alcohol either.”

“That’s good to hear. He’s lucky to have you in his corner.”

Dean blushed and thought he’d really like to be in Cas’s corner too, if he’d let him, preferably cornered by Cas. And maybe this time he’d finally get to tell Cas how he felt. Dean fiddled with his guitar pick. “Thanks Cas. I wanted to apologize for our conversation getting cut off earlier...”

In the background Dean could hear the doorbell ring and then the sounds of people talking.

“It’s not a problem Dean, your brother needed you,” Cas responded, his voice slowing as if he was shifting focus to whatever was happening at his house. “Good evening. You look very nice,” Cas said to whoever had, presumably just arrived. “Give me a moment and I’ll be ready to go.”

Balthazar’s British lilt came through the phone. “Of course, take all the time you need, darling.”

Then Cas’s voice was back, clear and focused again. “Hello, Dean? I’m so sorry but can we talk tomorrow? I’m actually on my way out.”

“S-sure thing, Cas,” Dean said weakly, his moment of hope being crushed ruthlessly with the Brit’s term of endearment. “Chat later.”

“Great, thanks! Have a good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” Dean stared at his phone blankly after he ended the call.

_Have a good night, Dean_. As in “have a good night, Dean, I won’t be going home tonight so I won’t be able to return your call until tomorrow”. As in, “have a good night, Dean, my friend, I’m out on a date with Balthazar, my sometimes lover, who is going to fuck me senseless tonight so I won’t have the time nor the mental capacity to call you back until tomorrow”. Ugh. Surely he was reading too much into it. Balthazar was always flirty. That didn’t mean Cas was sleeping with him. But then again, because of Friendsgiving he knew they had slept together before. And just because Cas said he didn’t want to start something new didn’t mean he wasn’t going to continue something old. Maybe they were just fuck buddies and it didn’t mean anything. Ugh. That really wasn’t any better.

Maybe it would have been better if Cas’s phone had just gone to voicemail again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did google the "heaviest car" to find the 1967 Lincoln Continental. :P
> 
> And just what is up with Cas's phone? Suppose it doesn't matter now that Balthazar is there to pick him up though_does_ it?
> 
> <3


	27. Saturday, December 21st - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did Cas and Balthazar get up to??

A hideous noise broke into Castiel’s consciousness. What in Heaven’s name was making that horrible sound?

It took several minutes of scrunching his eyes tight and trying the cover his ears with the sides of his pillow before Castiel realized: it was the alarm on his cell phone. He groaned, giving up on the pillow, and reached out to turn it off.

It was the Holidays, _and_ a weekend. Why had he thought it was a good idea to set… Oh dear. The time on the screen read 12:00pm. That’s why.

He’d set it so he didn’t sleep the entire day away. He’d promised himself that he’d do a full edit of his thesis over the break, which meant putting several hours of work in each day. If he was going to commit to making this happen he needed to start like he meant to, and not sleep the whole day away despite having not made it home until the small hours of the morning.

Castiel groaned and closed his eyes again, hoping it would help to ease the headache that he was gradually becoming aware of. Letting Balthazar talk him into staying after the show to meet up with the cast had been a terrible idea, although admittedly it had been nice to spend some time socializing with Hannah, who had also joined them for drinks at the theater’s bar. Closed, except for the cast and crew, one drink had turned into two drinks had turned into… Castiel couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been buying, and he’d assumed what Balthazar had been putting in front of him hadn’t been particularly potent, but his increasingly throbbing head suggested otherwise.

It hadn’t helped that he had been thinking about Dean calling him, and what he’d wanted to say. He’d assumed it had been something to do with the play. Maybe a question about the sound, now that they were starting to talk about how people were going to be mic’d up, and what effects or music Castiel wanted. He honestly hadn’t even considered music until Dean had brought it up at last week’s rehearsal.

It definitely wouldn’t have been anything else. Would it? True, they hadn’t talked about the kiss after the party on Thanksgiving, but Castiel felt like they’d moved past that. He certainly hoped they had. It had been awkward at first and he’d consciously tried to avoid Dean, but now it felt like there was an understanding, that Dean respected that Castiel was emotionally attached to the Poet.

_Yes, but still lusting after Dean_. Castiel’s traitorous thoughts argued. _You can’t have them both._

He sighed and pulled the pillow over his head to try and quiet his mind, but it only made him feel claustrophobic. He threw it aside and chanced opening an eye, but the room was too bright, despite his blinds being closed and the day (no doubt) being devoid of sunshine yet again. His mouth felt fuzzy and he needed to pee. Maybe he could make it to the bathroom. Castiel summoned all his fortitude and heaved himself out of bed. The room was freezing. He pulled on his robe and headed out to get his proverbial shit together.

Fifteen minutes later Castiel was back in bed, teeth brushed, bladder emptied, painkillers taken, and a cup of coffee in his brand new mug and a slice of toast in hand. He’d used the honey that the Poet had given him and the sweet taste hitting his mouth on his first bite did more to soothe him than any drug could have. He smiled, thinking of all the care the Poet had put into his gifts, before going still. He’d skipped day nine. On the ninth day of Christmas he’d been so selfishly wrapped up in his own affairs and, rather aptly, lusting after Dean, that he’d completely failed to post anything. The poet must think he’d given up.

He picked up his phone from the bedside table and pulled up 300cc.

_On the ninth day of Christmas I sat and daydreamed: how we’d sound singing this in reality._

_Sorry, it doesn’t really scan, but I might get my guitar out and try to work out the chords for this god awful song. Why did you pick it? Can you sing? If I learn to play it then maybe I’ll serenade you. X _

Castiel’s heart was pounding. Could the guy get any more romantic? First the gifts, and now dreaming about them singing together? It was beyond cute. He immediately began trying to decide how to respond for the tenth day when there was a knock on his bedroom door.

“Castiel!” Hannah’s muffled voice came through the wood.

“You can come in, Hannah.”

Hannah pushed open the door just wide enough to poke their head around. “Just wanted to check you were awake. You asked me to make sure you made a start on your edits this morning.”

Castiel was too damn conscientious for his own good, but he smiled his thanks at Hannah. “Well, you missed the morning, but my alarm woke me up at midday. I was going to get started after I’d checked my—”

“That fucking bulletin board,” Hannah rolled their eyes at him, “Castiel, I know you’ve set your heart on this man, woman, poet, whatever, but please, please don’t let this make you lose focus on what else matters to you. You’ve spent years working towards your PhD. You’re so close. I don’t want to be mean, but I do want you to be happy, and I _know _ you won’t be happy if you don’t feel like your thesis is perfect.”

Castiel looked up wide eyed at his friend. They were absolutely right, of course. He had been far too distracted this semester. “Thank you for all your support. You know me too well and are absolutely correct. I’m going to get started shortly.” He smiled up at them.

Hannah smiled back at him. “Be brilliant, Castiel.” They turned to leave.

“And Hannah,” he called after them, “the play was amazing last night. You’ve done an amazing job with it.”

Hannah turned back for a moment. “Thank you, I’m extremely proud of it. Considering it’s the first production I’ve managed professionally. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” They winked at him, and left, pulling the door closed behind them.

Castiel took a sip of coffee and looked at his phone again. He couldn’t just abandon the Poet, not after everything that he’d done over the past few days, but maybe it was time to put it on hold. At least until the new year. He unlocked it and reread the poem, still up on the screen, and knew what he needed to write.

_On the tenth day of Christmas I decided that this distraction is getting out of hand and I really need to get some work done on my thesis. Sorry. X _

He posted the line, finished his coffee and toast, and got out of bed to get to work. It was high time he put both the Poet _and_ Dean out of his mind to focus on what was really important. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more days of Christmas! 
> 
> Poor Cas, all the stresses he’s been managing are starting to overwhelm him.


	28. Saturday, December 21st - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Hey Span, you know what I learned from the responses to our last chapter?"
> 
> "That people leave more comments when they're angry?"
> 
> "Just so! 😈"
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to all those reading this in the U.S. (That's why I'm rather late getting this chapter posted today!) Hope your day be filled with appreciation - we certainly are hugely thankful to everyone who is reading and commenting. And very thankful for each other. Grin.

Saturday had passed in a blur of misery. As if the universe had heard his worries, and pushed to make them come true. Dean had thrown himself into work at the garage, trying not to think about why Cas hadn’t yet responded. His leading theory was that he was too busy having morning sex with Balthazar, or that his marathon sex of the night before hadn’t really allowed him to sleep, so he was now recuperating from his exertions. His day had only gotten worse at lunch time when Cas had finally posted. Cas wanted the Poet to leave him alone. Said that he was an unwelcome distraction. Was that all he had ever been?

Dean had turned off his phone once he’d gone back to the garage. He’d wanted to lose himself in physical labor without being distracted by the outside world. He’d worked so long after everyone else had already left that Rufus had been forced to kick him out. He hadn’t wanted to go home and sit with his sadness, his brain replaying everything over and over again. He needed the mental distraction and the physical exertion working on cars gave him.

What he hadn’t accounted for was his meddlesome best friend.

“You’re late,” Charlie said from the couch when Dean entered the apartment. He did a double take, looking back and forth between Charlie and Benny, whose presence on a Saturday night was a rare treat indeed. Had they all made plans together that he’d forgotten about? No. That wasn’t it. Dean took off his jacket, scarf, hat and winter boots before responding. “A wizard is never late, nor is he early, he arrives precisely when he means to.”

Charlie’s laugh filled Dean with a warmth he had been missing all day. He took a seat beside her on the couch, glancing at several nicely wrapped gifts and not one but two large pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table. He raised an eyebrow at Benny who just grinned at him in return.

“To what do we owe this visit?”

“You really thought I’d leave for the holidays without celebrating Christmas with my two favorite Bisexuals?! Please.” Charlie grinned and opened the first pizza box grabbing herself a slice of something deliciously meaty, along with a napkin. “And now that you’re home we can eat!”

Benny chuckled. “She was going to start eating in the next five minutes whether you were home or not.”

“That does sound like Charlie,” Dean mused and then laughed when Charlie kicked him in protest. He grabbed a plate and added a slice from each box; Meat-Lover’s and BBQ Chicken. Damn, Charlie had gone all out.

“Cheers!” Benny tossed him a beer.

“Thanks.” Dean took a sip and a large bite of pizza. Mmmmm, now that’s what he needed. Beer, greasy food and his two best friends.

It was nice of Charlie to come over and for Benny to make time to hang out before all three of them left for the holidays. Charlie was going to stay with her cousin in Wichita for a couple of days and Benny was going back home to Louisiana until after New Years. Cas hadn’t mentioned what his plans were for Christmas. Dean hoped that he wouldn’t be alone, even if that meant he’d be spending more time with Balthazar. The next bite of pizza didn’t go down nearly as easily as the first.

“Dean!” Charlie barked at him. “No sulking during our Christmas party!”

“Sorry, Charlie, it’s just…”

“Castiel,” Benny stated, daring Dean to deny it.

Charlie made a very put upon sigh. “Alright. You have ten minutes. Tell us what’s up and then we can get back to the happy, okay?”

Dean nodded, immediately grateful. He stared down at his now half-eaten slice of pizza. “Did you see?”

“Course I did. I read everything.” Charlie rolled her eyes.

“Then you know that it’s over.” Dean put his plate on the coffee table, his appetite gone.

Dean waited for some sort of comment, but there wasn’t one. He finally looked up to find incredulous stares from both his friends.

“You are the dumbest smart person I know,” Charlie said finally.

Dean blinked at her for a moment. He knew that line. “Did you just quote iRobot to me?”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“Charlie!”

“She’s right on the money, Brother.”

Dean looked back and forth between his best friend and his roommate. What was going on?

“Figure it out, Dean. Castiel is a PhD student. Do you know what most of them do? Seclude themselves for a year while they write their thesis. What has Castiel not being doing?” Charlie prodded.

“...But the play _IS_ his thesis, Charlie!”

“No. It’s _THE BASIS_ for his thesis. You think he doesn’t have to write the paper just because there’s a play?”

“Oh.” _Oh_. He totally had assumed that very thing. Dean shook his head. Unbelievable. Of course Cas would need to write a paper about the play. Was there even a chance that Cas writing the play was enough, and the whole production was just extra credit? He should really ask sometime.

“Yeah. Dumbass,” Charlie snarked, taking another bite out of her pizza.

“So, he’s really stressed then?” And here Dean was, making Cas’s life even more stressful than it had to be.

“Would bet my crown on it,” Charlie responded between mouthfuls.

“You don’t seem relieved.” Benny sipped his beer.

“Why would I be relieved to know I was causing Cas more stress?”

“Because he still likes you, Brother, he’s just busy.”

_Yeah. Busy with Balthazar_. Dean thought uncharitably.

Benny raised an eyebrow at him. “There’s more?”

For a split second Dean considered not spilling his guts, but he knew that Charlie and Benny were on his side, and more importantly, would wheedle it out of him one way or another.

“It’s just…” Dean sighed. “It explains why he needed to…blow off steam last night.”

“Handmaiden?”

“I finally got through to him on the phone last night. I was going to confess but then Balthazar showed up to pick him up for their date.”

Twin “_oh_”s filled the empty space at Dean’s admission.

“Yeah.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. There really was no getting around that one.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” Charlie said, and hesitated, putting down her pizza before continuing, “That doesn’t really sound like something Castiel would do though, especially after telling you he was only going to pursue the Poet.”

“Well he didn’t specifically use the word date,” Dean hedged.

“Well what word did he use then?”

“Balthazar arrived and Cas said he looked nice, or that he’d dressed up, or something. And then told me that we’d talk later ’cause he had to go.”

“Okay… and then what?”

“And then he left. And never called me back,” Dean responded.

Charlie and Benny exchanged a glance. “So nothing else happened. And you’re _assuming_ it was a date. And that— what?… he didn’t call you back because he was _sleeping_ with Balthazar? Dean? Really?”

“That’s a stretch, even for you,” Benny chimed in.

“Hey!” Dean protested. He didn’t think he’d said anything particularly outlandish.

“Isn’t it more likely that they had an event to go to and Castiel didn’t call you back ’cause he got in late?” Benny asked.

“Castiel and Balthazar haven’t been a thing in a long time,” Charlie agreed.

“Are you sure?” Dean didn’t want it to be just wishful thinking on his, and their, parts.

“More sure than you are that they’re secretly sleeping together.” Charlie rolled her eyes and grabbed yet another slice of pizza.

Maybe he _was_ being paranoid. Charlie’s explanation did sort of make sense. Dean toyed with the rim of his beer. “If you guys say so…”

“We say so. Right, Benny?”

“As you said, Cher.”

“Dean, you’re being melodramatic. Should we ask Meg to find you a walk-on part?” Charlie teased and Dean rolled his eyes. He was much happier behind the scenes than up on stage.

“Give him space. He’d appreciate that,” Benny suggested.

“Just breathe, Dean. Remember, Castiel likes the Poet, which means he likes you. He’s just stressed.”

Dean nodded and smiled, finally. Charlie was right. “I’ll try.”

“Do or do not, Handmaiden! Don’t make me demote you again!”

Dean huffed a laugh. He was glad that Charlie had surprised him with her visit. He was feeling much better about everything. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“And don’t think I didn’t notice the little X kisses you’ve been exchanging. Did you manage to catch the one he left you after ‘sorry’? Or were you already too far gone on this pity party to catch it?”

Dean blushed. “I caught it.”

“You and Castiel are too much,” Benny laughed and shook his head. “Sending each other written kisses. And you haven’t even fucked yet!”

“I don’t envy your lack of peace and quiet when they finally get around to that part,” Charlie half joked, and Benny laughed.

“Don’t remind me.”

“You good, Handmaiden?” Charlie looked pointedly at Dean.

“Yeah. Thanks, Charlie, Benny.”

“No problem. Now are you going to finish your pizza or can we open presents now?”

“Presents. Let me go grab mine.” Dean headed off to his room while Benny and Charlie finished the last of their slices.

He felt much lighter when he came back into the living area carrying Christmas presents. He was so grateful for his friends, and glad of the opportunity to show them just how much. Charlie was over the moon about the Sorting Hat Hermione Funko he had picked up for her at a convention earlier that year for this specific purpose. And it took Benny quite some time to stop laughing after he opened his gag apron gift with the statue of David printed on it. From the neck down, at least.

“You will live to regret this present, brother, ’cause I’m going to wear it all the time.”

“Promise?” Dean grinned.

“Course, you’re already intimately aware that it doesn’t come close to doing me justice. But hey, I’ll take it as a compliment that you consider me statuesque.”

“Absolutely. If we’re talking about a statue of a teddy bear.”

Benny grabbed one of the throw pillows from behind him and hurled it at Dean’s head.

“Hey!” Dean protested, laughing.

“Open mine next!” Charlie bounced excitedly in her seat, handing her gift to Dean. She had given him a signed copy of Batman #497, with Bane breaking Batman’s back over his knee on the cover.

“Charlie! This is amazing! It’s… too much!”

“Let’s just say I called in a favor from a friend… and I know how much you enjoyed his abs.”

Dean ran his fingers appreciatively across that very portion of the artwork as she spoke, so could hardly deny it. “Thank you, Charlie. I love it.”

“No problem. Oh, and one more thing…” Charlie grinned and pulled out her wallet and handed him a $50 bill. “This!”

Dean looked at the crisp fifty in confusion.

“Email. I have it on excellent authority that you have not logged in to any of your email accounts since the beginning of September,” she explained.

“You hacked my accounts.”

“Yup.” Charlie beamed at him. “And you, Dean, are now fifty bucks richer for it.

Dean looked at her with a mixture of fear and admiration. “Remind me to never, ever piss you off, Charlie.”

She smiled innocently and changed the subject. “Well, Benny? Watcha got for us?”

“Well, I don’t have anything for either of you to unwrap,” Benny admitted, “but I have arranged a candlelit dinner for two, one for each of you and a guest. I will be extremely disappointed if you don’t bring Castiel.” Benny said to Dean. “And don’t think I don’t know you’ve been wooing Miss Dorothy either, Cher. I expect to see her as well. I’ll make sure you’re treated well.”

Now that was a treat. Dean definitely didn’t have the cash to be eating at the restaurant where Benny worked, though he definitely enjoyed the fruits of Benny’s labors every time his roommate brought leftovers home.

“Thank you! That’s really cool. I’ll do my best to not disappoint you, but it might take me a while to get Cas to be my plus one.”

“I’m sure you’ll get it done.”

Charlie looked up from her phone, which had magically appeared in her hands. “Dorothy’s IN! Thank you so much, Benny!”

“Damn, Charlie, that was fast.”

“Yeah, well unlike some people, I get what I want in a timely fashion!” Charlie laughed.

“Speaking of things that need to be timely, I also do not have anything for you to unwrap, Benny, but I wanted to show you something.” Charlie pulled her laptop out of her bag and opened it, holding it out to him. “Your new website.”

Benny moved to the sofa, elbowing Dean out the way so that he could sit next to Charlie. Dean switched to the chair Benny had just vacated, taking up his plate again so he could give them room to look together while he finally finished eating.

“What do you think, honestly?” Charlie asked him.

Benny had the laptop on his knees now, and was scrolling and clicking wide-eyed, obviously exploring the site Charlie had created.

“This is…”

“When you were talking about it you had mentioned wanting a gallery so that you could showcase your plating, but I felt like you needed more than that to really sell yourself, so I included a recipes section and the info page so that it becomes more of an online resume and portfolio combined.”

“How did you find time to do all this?” Benny asked.

Charlie looked sheepishly at him smiling. “I hope you don’t mind that I used it as the project for my Ruby on Rails class this semester.”

Benny grinned broadly. “I’m thrilled. Not only does it showcase the skills I’ve gained through my studies, but it was created through the skills you gained in yours.” He put a burly arm around her shoulders and squeezed her affectionately. “It’s perfect, Charlie, thank you so much.”

Dean smiled through a mouth full of BBQ chickeny goodness. He was damn lucky to have such amazing people around him. They each brought different qualities to the table and weren’t afraid to share their talents, far from it— they encouraged each other and celebrated one another. Just like they encouraged and celebrated him. Maybe he had his own talents after all.

What was it that Professor Mil—, Jody, had said to him all those weeks ago?

Be brave. Take risks. Don’t underestimate yourself.

Charlie and Benny had more or less just illustrated her point. And if they could do it, maybe he could too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how's that for a healthy chat and working through a problem by talking it out with friends?! So proud of you, Dean.
> 
> For those who are interested here's [the issue of Batman](https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Batman_Vol_1_497) that Charlie gave Dean, and [the Funko](https://www.funko.com/products/movies/pop/harry-potter/hermione-granger-w-sorting-hat) that Dean gave Charlie.  
Edit! I can't believe we forgot [The apron Dean gave Benny](https://www.dadshop.com.au/michelangelo-s-david-apron)  
Roll on Sunday for the next installment!


	29. Sunday, December 22nd - Dean

Work on Sunday was considerably better after his night with Charlie and Benny. Dean genuinely did feel better about how things stood with Cas, even though he was still frustrated. The morning went by quickly, with a ton of people stopping in to get last-minute tire changes or engine checks before they set out on their holiday travels.

After his sixth set of oil changes, Dean finally took a coffee break and pulled out 300cc. He’d thought a lot about what his friend had said last night, and decided to respond to Cas in the best way he could.

_On the eleventh day of Christmas: sorry. I’ll let you work. x_

Hopefully it would be enough, and Cas would appreciate that he was still trying to connect without being pushy about it. Afterall, he didn’t want to be the cause of Cas failing to finish his thesis.

Dean went back to work and tried not to think about it.

**Monday, December 23rd**

Suffice to say, Dean had slept poorly. He walked around his apartment like a zombie, grabbing things he wanted to take with him to Bobby’s place with one hand and nursing a giant cup of coffee in the other. Benny had left the day before to spend Christmas with his family in Louisiana, so he hadn’t been around to give Dean proper shit for moping or nearly spilling coffee no less than three times before Dean had the Impala packed up and ready to go.

Dean pulled up at Sam’s dormitory and texted his brother.

Five minutes later Sam had emerged from the freshman building and was quickly stuffing more than what Dean would consider a “reasonable” amount of baggage into Baby’s trunk.

“Moving back home, are we?”

“Shut up. I need to study at Bobby’s,” Sam snapped back as he got into the passenger side of the Impala, brushing off fat flakes of snow that covered his head and shoulders.

Dean just grunted and pulled away from the curb. He could feel his brother’s eyes on him. “What?” he snapped.

“Dean! Why haven’t you told him?!”

Dean sighed. There was no getting out of this conversation. The best he could do was get to Eileen’s place as fast as possible. Fortunately she only lived on the other side of campus in one of the residences reserved for graduate students. Unfortunately, the streets around the university weren’t as well plowed as the main roads, so Dean had to temper his desire not to talk about Cas with his desire to not hurt Baby (or himself and Sam) by losing control on the slick roads.

“I tried, man, I tried. I really did!” Dean mentally flipped through all of his most recent interactions with Cas, in person, on the phone and over 300cc. He had tried, hadn’t he? In every instance something, or someone else had gotten in the way.

“No, Dean. You didn’t try,” Sam argued, “you just posted that you’d leave him alone!”

“He asked me to, Sam!” Dean nearly shouted as he pulled up to Eileen’s place.

“Needing to work is not the same as needing you to go away, Dean. Don’t give up,” Sam said sincerely.

“You sound like Charlie.” Dean stared moodily at the steering wheel.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sam said before getting out of the car into the falling snow. He closed the door but stuck his head back through the window. “You should message him again.” He rapped his knuckles on the top of the car before he turned and walked up the path to knock on Eileen’s door, pulling his jacket close around him.

Dean fished his phone out of his pocket and checked 300cc. Nothing new. He chewed on his lips briefly and watched as Sam awkwardly waited at the door while Eileen was grabbing her things. His giant moose of a brother then tried to carry all of her stuff himself, which, while he was strong enough, he certainly wasn’t coordinated enough to do, and ended up conceding to Eileen’s no-nonsense arguments and handing back a few items back to her. Together they managed quite easily to get her stuff down the drive and packed away into Baby’s trunk.

If they spent a couple of extra minutes flirting instead of getting into the car, Dean wasn’t going to fault them for it, as he was safe and warm inside.

Maybe he’d been going about this the wrong way. He’d failed at trying to talk to Cas in person, their phone calls kept being interrupted, none of his text messages ever went through. Maybe he needed to finish this the way he’d started it. Online. If he couldn’t tell Cas that he was the Poet, maybe the Poet could tell Cas that he was Dean.

Dean quickly scrambled to type up a poem and pressed submit before Sam and Eileen opened their doors and got in. Hopefully, that would do the trick.

He reached around to shove his phone into his back pocket before the other two got into the car, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Sam caught his and smiled knowingly.

***

Three hours later, Dean pulled up to ‘Pizza Ranch’ in Atlantic, Iowa. It had been Sam’s job to lookup places they could grab some food on the way to Bobby’s, but once he had listed the old-west-themed pizza and buffet place, there were no other options in Dean’s mind.

Sam had grumbled but had followed him in nonetheless. At least Eileen looked interested.

Ten minutes later, Dean sat down with no less than three plates piled high with all kinds of food that only started with pizza. Eileen’s eyes went wide when she saw his haul.

“Are you going to eat _all_ of that?” she asked, before looking down at her own two slices of pizza.

“Probably.” Dean laughed and dug in.

“You’re going to give yourself a heart attack, you know.” Sam rolled his eyes in disgust as he sat down beside Dean.

Dean finished chewing, took a large sip of his fountain soda and then grinned at Sam. “At least I’m not going to have food poisoning!” he said, indicating Sam’s plate of salad.

“What are you talking about?’”

“Look it up, genius. Cesar salad is one of the most dangerous foods to eat at a buffet.”

“That can’t be right,” Sam muttered and got out his phone. A moment later he looked a little green. Without a word he got up from the table and went back to the buffet to grab some other food.

Dean snickered and continued eating.

Sam came back with, in Dean’s opinion, the much healthier choice of Hawaiian pizza.

“Atta boy, Sammy.”

Sam sent a bitch face back at him before digging into a slice.

For a while there were just the sounds of happy eating, and Dean took the opportunity to check 300cc. He opened his phone to refresh the page and it timed out. He tried again and got an error message.

_“This content is currently not available. Please connect to a KCU IP address and try again.”_

“Shit!” Dean swore audibly. He had completely forgotten that he couldn’t access 300cc off campus. He’d probably still been connected to the KCU campus wifi at Eileen’s, which was why he’d been able to post before they’d left, but now… he was shit out of luck. He never thought he’d become one of those people who’d constantly be on their phone, anxiously awaiting an update, and yet here he was, rapidly turning into a ball of anxiety about being cut off for _eight whole days._ What if Cas posted during that time? What if he agreed to meet and proposed a time and Dean never responded? Would Cas think he was being stood up? Had he done all of this work only to fail in the final moments?

“Dean! DEAN!”

Dean looked up to see Sam’s concerned face, he must have been trying to get his attention for a while.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I… uh…” Dean looked back and forth between Sam and Eileen. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit. You checked your phone and it was like we ceased to exist, like your many slices of pizza ceased to exist!”

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t get on 300cc, okay?” He looked over at Sam willing him to understand why that was so stressful without having to spell it out.

Sam’s face went from worried to happy. “Oh! Well, we can fix that. Right, Eileen?”

“Sure can.” Eileen smiled. “I have a VPN, I can get you on 300cc no problem. Why is it so importa— OH!” Eileen’s eyes went wide and she studied him for a moment, her scrutiny making Dean blush. “You’re the Poet, aren’t you?!”

Dean hung his head and nodded.

“This is wonderful!” Eileen grinned. “I was hoping it was you.”

“Hoping?” Dean blinked and looked up curiously.

“The electricity between you two at Friendsgiving was incredible!”

Dean didn’t think his face could turn any redder, but somehow he was certain that it had.

“And Cas still doesn’t know it’s you?” she asked.

Dean shook his head. “No, but I asked him to meet me in my last post this morning, when we were still on campus.”

Eileen handed her phone over right away. “Here check on mine.”

Dean felt a rush of relief mixed with nervous anticipation. He gratefully took her phone and navigated to 300cc.

His post from this morning was still on top.

Dean tried not to let his brain vortex into a mess of negative reasons as to why Cas hadn’t responded yet. Everything from ‘you ignored his wishes to leave him alone’ to ‘he never wanted to meet you at all, it was just for fun’ to ‘you’re a pushy asshole Dean, no one wants to be with you.’

Sam cut through Dean’s second emotional kamikaze in the last five minutes.

“Don’t worry, Dean, Cas will respond.”

Dean refreshed the page again but to no avail. He sighed. “Yeah.”

“I know he will respond too, don’t give up,” Eileen said warmly as Dean handed her phone back.

“Thanks.”

“He’s probably just working on his thesis, or getting ready for Christmas. It’s only been a couple of hours after all. Do you know if he’s even staying on campus?” Sam reasoned.

“Yeah, he is, he’s kind of estranged from his family.” Dean frowned, not wanting to share things that Cas had told him in confidence.

“Maybe next year… he will be part of our family and spend Christmas with us?” Sam suggested gently.

“Definitely,” Eileen nodded with a grin.

Dean nodded, stuffing his face full of food so he wouldn’t have to respond. He wasn’t going to admit to Sam that he’d already had that fantasy. Of him and Cas curled up in front of a Christmas tree with cocoa and festive music. It was just too soft and domestic for him to admit out loud. But it was something he wanted with every atom of his being.

He ruthlessly pushed the fantasy away. It wouldn’t do him any good to dream about something so far away and so out of his control.

He waited long enough until both of his companions were eating before he changed the topic.

“So, Eileen, have any Christmas traditions you’d like to celebrate? Food? Activities?”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m just grateful to you both for inviting me to share your traditions.”

“Dean’s right, Eileen, it’s your Christmas too. Is there anything we can pick up? Anything you’d like to make or have?”

“Well…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy December! (by the Gregorian calendar)  
Now, where were we?? Oh yes... one Dean Winchester vowing to be brave.
> 
> How many more people will find out that Dean is the Poet before Cas does?
> 
> And more importantly, what will Eileen make for Christmas?!  
Also, that place they ate dinner, totally [ a real place.](https://pizzaranch.com/locations/ia/atlantic/1512-e-7th-street) However, if they have a salad bar we are sure it serves high quality greens and in no way are we suggesting that anything on their menu may cause food borne illnesses. THIS IS A WORK OF COMPLETE FICTION (apart from Dean and Cas being in love. That’s 100% real).


	30. Tuesday, December 24th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been a little focussed on Dean for the last couple of chapters, so let's see how Castiel is handling things today, shall we? Looks like he's making a list and checking it twice. Any guesses who's in the "Nice" column?!!
> 
> Oh, and please note that this chapter is set on a Tuesday in December! It's almost like we planned it. Grin.

Most of the day had been very productive, Castiel had managed to write almost 3000 words, and made some major improvements to his argument. However, since he’d come back after having stopped for dinner he’d hit a wall. He now sat in front of his computer, notebook open, utterly failing to work on his thesis, his thoughts having drifted traitorously back to the Poet.

<s>Balthazar</s> \- has denied it on more than one occasion  
Max \- not out of the question, but Max flirts with EVERYONE, why go after me instead of, say, Dean?  
<s>Alicia</s> \- far too direct, would just tell me outright  
<s>Meg</s> \- she’s definitely moved on, otherwise she wouldn’t have agreed to direct the play  
<s>Charlie</s> \- _definitely_ not into men  
<s>Kevin</s> \- would be unlikely to use his own website in such a frivolous way  
<s>Ash</s> \- not his style at all, not enough brashness. Plus he’s a “tits” man (his words)  
<s>Brady</s> \- if he was that literary he’d have done way better in class  
<s>Jessica</s> \- too busy being in love with Sam  
<s>Eileen</s> \- also too busy being in love with Sam  
<s>Sam</s> \- too busy being in a love triangle with Jess and Eileen  
Dean \- studies engineering, so probably not into poetry  
<s>Anna</s> \- hasn’t had the time to do anything but paint. Also doesn’t have access to the campus network  
<s>Hannah</s> \- views me as an annoying brother, would also just tell me  
<s>Samandriel</s> \- not sure… but he’s not involved in the play, just know him from TA meetings  
<s>Lucifer</s> \- still in California, as far as anyone knows, and presumably hates my guts  
<s>Professor MacCloud</s> \- unlikely  
<s>Professor Crowley</s> \- would prefer that I caught a transmissible disease and had to be indefinitely quarantined

That was more or less everyone he’d had any contact with since the start of last semester. 

Castiel read again through the list he’d just made. 

Max was definitely capable of being the Poet— he was a talented writer, sensual, flirty and was definitely attracted to men. The only thing was that Castiel couldn’t imagine him being so secretive. It wasn’t Max’s style. He would have shown up at Castiel’s office with the gifts and made sure everyone, especially Castiel, knew that they were from him. He wasn’t afraid of who he was or what he wanted. It was one of the things that made Max undeniably attractive, and Castiel just a little bit terrified of him.

Which left Dean. Could Dean really be the Poet? He was an engineer, a scientist, surely he wouldn’t be able to write such eloquent, beautiful poetry. But before Thanksgiving Castiel would have dismissed Dean as not having been into men, and he’d obviously been very wrong about that, if the kiss they had shared had been any indication. So maybe Castiel shouldn’t dismiss the idea of Dean being creative. God knew the man was an artist when it came to lighting and effects. Could that extend to language?

A warmth, that felt dangerously like hope, spread through Castiel, making his pulse quicken and his breathing slow. He tried to imagine Dean saying all the things he’d read on 300cc and found that it was surprisingly easy to do. But maybe that was just because he wanted it to be Dean. Nothing could be more perfect than finding out that the man he was in love with was, in fact, the same man he’d been lusting after ever since he’d first laid eyes on him talking with Meg up on stage back at the beginning of November. But would Dean have gone to all the trouble of finding all those gifts for him? How could Dean have known exactly what he liked and needed? 

He found himself clicking on the web browser and opening 300cc, as if it might hold the answers to his questions.

As if his thoughts had willed the words into existence, a new poem sat at the top of the page.

_On the twelfth day of Christmas, I finally got the stones to say: can we meet?_

The poet wanted to meet him! Panic rose in Castiel’s chest. Did he want to meet the Poet? Of course he wanted to meet the Poet! But what if wasn’t Dean? What if it was Max? Or someone else altogether? But this was it, the chance he’d been waiting for all these weeks. Maybe if they met and it all went horribly wrong they could both just laugh about it and go their separate ways?

He got up from his desk and walked to the kitchen, trying to think.

What did he really want? He did want to know who the Poet was. But why? 

_Because you’ve fallen for them and have to know who has captured your heart_, he told himself rationally.

_And if it’s not Dean?_ the proverbial Devil-on-his-shoulder asked, _will you be able to forget all about him and dedicate yourself to the Poet? Or are you only falling for them because all this time you’ve been secretly imagining them as Dean?_

Castiel stopped, mid pour, the kettle continuing to spout water into the mug he’d been in the process of filling.

Shit. That was it, wasn’t it. He _had_ been imagining it was Dean all this time, even though he’d done his best not to admit it to himself. Until now.

Tea dripped onto his toe, from where the mug was now overflowing onto the counter. It quickly pulled his attention back to his surroundings. He swore and set the kettle down, scrabbling around to find a towel to mop up the puddle.

How could he have been so stupid? Both with regards to the kettle and to the Poet, Castiel thought ruefully as he began to clean up the mess he’d made. The one in the kitchen, at least. He hadn’t a clue what he should do about the one with the Poet. Who wanted to meet him. Who he (quite desperately now) wanted to be Dean. Who may be Dean, but could equally as easily not be Dean.

He carried the (now slightly more manageably full) cup of tea back to his room and sat down at his desk again. He couldn’t dwell on this right now. Castiel had promised himself he was going to focus all his energies on his work this week, so that he’d have time to help Anna set up her exhibition next week and he was already letting himself get thrown off course. Just like Celeste, he thought. Hardly surprising as he’d poured so much of himself into the character of the Angel. He’d written her as having clearly defined aims— a mission she believed in, until she’d met Diana, who had slowly made the Angel question everything she’d ever thought she’d believed. 

Castiel had thought he’d been writing about his experience with his parents, but the parallels to his current situation weren’t lost on him. He laughed mirthlessly at the irony. If only he could resolve his issues in reality as easily as he could write them on the page. 

Only, he hadn’t made it easy for Celeste. Or for Diana. Both characters made sacrifices, and both had complicated journeys of self discovery before they were able to admit to the truth of their own desires. The truth.

Castiel believed in the truth. Living a lie had torn him apart through his teenage years, trying to be what his family expected him to be, something he was not. He hadn’t been happy until he’d told them the truth, even though it had made them furious. That was the answer. For Celeste. For Diana. For Castiel. For the Poet. It didn’t matter if it was fiction or reality. Honesty was the answer.

He turned over the page in his notebook and began furiously writing notes, before clicking back to the open document and continuing work on his thesis.

It was almost midnight by the time Castiel came to a stopping point. He’d managed to write solidly for almost five hours. He saved the document and quit the application, but before he shut down the computer he opened 300cc again.

He clicked on the submission box and began to type. He couldn’t help but laugh at himself. It was a damn Limerick and could barely be described as poetry, and yet it captured his mood and the playful tone he wanted to convey perfectly. He found that he was far more nervous sending this than he had been any of his previous poems, even though it was far less personal than so many he’d already posted. Why? Because he was at last being open about his feelings. He’d chosen a form of verse known for being humorous and lewd to finally say quite the opposite.

He hit submit. That was the truth, now Castiel just had to wait and see if it would set him free. He went to take his mug back to the kitchen and jumped at the sound of the front door opening, nearly dropping his mug in his surprise.

“Fuck, Hannah!” he was relieved to see them come in and begin taking off layers. “Sorry, you made me jump. I forgot you had a performance tonight.”

“Last of the year!” Hannah breathed a satisfied sigh and began unlacing their boots. “Having a whole week off is going to be heavenly. What are you still doing up? Still writing?”

They both moved into the kitchen where Castiel set the mug in the dishwasher.

“Yes. I managed to make a lot of progress today.”

“Well it’s good to hear that you’re moving forward, not getting distracted by poetry,” Hannah said in a teasing tone, but their expression made their genuine concern clear.

“I did get distracted by the Poet posting, as a matter of fact,” Castiel admitted, “but it actually helped me to see my work from a new angle and ended up being incredibly useful.”

“Wow. Well, that’s good news, I guess. Dare I ask what the Poet wrote?” Hannah smirked, making Castiel color slightly.

“They asked if I wanted to meet.”

“And do you?”

“Honestly, I don’t know? But unless I do, I’ll never know.”

Hannah nodded thoughtfully. “Because you hope that it’s someone in particular.”

“I have to find out.” 

“Just don’t get hurt, Castiel.” 

He laughed somewhat sadly. “It might be too late for that,” Castiel admitted. “But when was there ever progress without pain?”

“Then I respect your bravery.” Hannah smiled at him before moving to leave the kitchen. “Goodnight, Castiel. And Merry Christmas.”

“Night.” Castiel looked at the wall clock. Five after midnight. It was Christmas day, but Hannah was already in their room. He should be going to bed himself.

“Merry Christmas, Dean,” he whispered into the quiet and turned off the kitchen light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Castiel is finally done denying <s>what</s> who he really wants. They are finally taking (baby) steps in the right direction, peoples!! Who's excited?!
> 
> We're excited, and we wrote the damn thing.
> 
> Just to confirm, there are 13 chapters remaining, and we will continue to post on the regular Tue/Thu/Sun schedule regardless of foul weather, winter festivals, canon, hell or highwater. We will wrap up on New Year's eve!! We are so thankful that you are all joining us on this crazy (and slightly maddening) journey. You will be handsomely rewarded. We promise.


	31. Tuesday, December 24th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling festive? Dean is. And isn't there a poem for him read on Christmas morning? 
> 
> But we're getting ahead of ourselves...

Bobby had welcomed them home with gruff words and tight hugs. They’d spent the evening catching up and playing cards before heading to bed. Dean had teased Sam and Eileen mercilessly about how Eileen had taken Sam’s bed and Sam was sleeping on the couch. They’d both blushed furiously while Dean laughed. 

Dean had managed to ask Eileen to check 300cc only three times the whole day. There had been no response. 

“It’s good ta have yeh boys home,” Bobby said during their traditional Christmas Eve dinner of Chinese take-out. 

“We’re happy to be home, Bobby.” Sam smiled, before continuing to stuff his face with sweet and sour pork. “You know we wouldn’t miss this!”

“Yeah well, you two don’t come oft’n ‘nough fer my liking. Wouldn’t hurt ya to call once in awhile ’n all.” He jabbed his chopsticks at them. 

Dean stuffed an entire spring roll in his mouth and had to finish it before he could speak. “Yeah, sorry. You’re right, we should call more. We’ve just been so busy with school and the play and work…”

“And being the Poet!” Sam smirked. 

“The Poet?” Bobby asked looking back and forth between the brothers.

“He’s been writing love poetry anonymously to the grad student who wrote the play,” Sam continued, not heeding Dean’s glower.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean growled, his face red with embarrassment. 

“And Castiel’s been writing back!” Sam cackled. 

Eileen looked back and forth between them and Bobby, a horrified look on her face. “Sam!” she hissed, “How could you?”

Sam’s smile dropped as he turned to look at Eileen’s distraught face. “Eileen, I…”

Dean hadn’t looked away from his plate up until this point but when he did, he realized what had happened. Dean waved at her until she turned her attention to him instead of Sam. “Don’t worry Eileen, Sam didn’t Out me. Bobby knows I’m Bi.”

“Oh.” Eileen colored. “Sorry… I just… assumed. My apologies, Mr. Singer.” 

“Never you mind. Dean’s just embarrassed about the poetry. And didn’t I tell you to call me Bobby?”

Eileen blushed further and nodded. “Sorry, Bobby,” and helped herself to another dumpling. 

Bobby smiled at her before turning back to Dean. “You must really like this boy if you’re wooing him properly.”

Dean nodded, his food temporarily forgotten with thoughts of Cas flooding his mind. “Yeah, I really do. He’s… smart and talented and beautiful… and when he’s in the room, it’s like...”

“Like he’s the only one there?” Bobby asked gently.

“Yeah.” Dean smiled back. “Exactly.”

Bobby grinned and reached out to clap Dean on the shoulder. “Good fer you. Bout time you got to have something for yerself instead of breaking yer back fer everyone else.”

“Thanks, Bobby, but he’s not mine yet.”

“But he’s been writing back, yes?”

“Absolutely!” Sam crowed, “their online interactions are the most popular topic on campus!”

“It’s so sweet,” Eileen chimed in. 

Bobby eyed Dean for a moment and then nodded. “Good. You’ll bring him ‘round once you get it sorted, you hear?”

Dean’s ears burned and he nodded. “Yes Bobby.”

The rest of the night was spent drinking whisky and laughing about this and that while Die Hard played in the background. They had educated Eileen on proper American Christmas Movie etiquette, of which Die Hard sat at the top. Home Alone was also a strong contender, but could only be consumed if everyone agreed on it once Die Hard had been completed. Eileen had laughed at them, which turned Sam’s face red, but then surprised them all with her Christmas Movie pick of In Bruge, which none of them had seen before except for Eileen. 

Dean could almost see the switch flip in his brother’s eyes when it became obvious that In Bruge was a gangster movie, complete with filthy language and plenty of violence. Not only that, but it turned out to be darkly humorous and wonderfully cinematic. Dean grinned to himself. Maybe Eileen was here to stay because he couldn’t help but feel that Jessica would’ve been much more interested in Home Alone or made them watch Love Actually (that Dean would never, ever confess he secretly loved). They watched the snow falling on the screen, and Dean idly got up to peek out the window into the darkness. Sure enough, gentle flakes were wafting around the window, though it didn’t look like anything was sticking.

“Whaddyaknow, snow,” he announced to the group.

“You didn’t notice it while you drove up here?” Sam snarked.

“That wasn’t _Christmas_ Snow, Sammy! That was just weather getting in the way of my Baby and giving me a headache coz I had to focus on keeping her— and you for that matter— safe.”

After the movies were over, Bobby bade them goodnight and wandered off to his room with whisky still in hand. Dean decided it was also time to beat a hasty retreat, genuinely needing to do some last minute wrapping, but also not wanting to witness Sam and Eileen making eyes at each other for the rest of the evening. As happy as he was for them, it left him feeling empty and craving a pair of sky blue eyes to lose himself in. And, unlike Sam, Dean wasn’t the kind of guy to cockblock his own brother. 

Wednesday, December 25th

Dean woke slowly Christmas morning. The light had already filtered into his room, but he still woke up far earlier than he typically would have on a holiday. Obviously, he was long past the age of getting up with the dawn for presents, but he had woken with a burning need to check 300cc. Even if Cas hadn’t posted anything it felt like Dean should send something. Even just a line.

Dean got up out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. He’d have to wait until Eileen got up before he could fix that craving, so in the interim, he could make everyone Christmas breakfast. He smiled to himself thinking about his family waking up to a warm house filled with the smells of Christmas morning including cinnamon rolls, bacon, eggs and pancakes. 

As he reached the family room he frowned. It was much colder in here than his perfect Christmas morning vision. The fire they had set last night had burned itself out, and oh ho ho, what did we have here? The couch that Sam was supposed to be asleep on was empty! Sammy, that sly dog, had invited himself back into his own room had he? Dean grinned. He was going to have so much fun this morning. 

First things first, though. He needed to grab some more wood to get this fire going and warm up the downstairs before everyone else woke up. Dean headed for the kitchen and the back door, grabbing his coat and slipping on his boots as he went. He opened the door only to find Sam standing on the doorstep, all bundled up, covered in snow, and carrying firewood. 

“What are you doing up?” Dean gaped like a fish.

“Getting firewood…?” Sam gestured to the wood in his arms. “The family room got cold, so I thought I’d restart the fire.”

“Right. Firewood.” Dean blinked and shook his head, closing the door behind Sam as he stepped inside. Sam gave him a look and toed off his shoes before taking the wood through the kitchen and into the family room. Dean hung up his coat and put his boots away. With the wind somewhat taken from his sails, he turned and started in on breakfast. 

A half hour later Eileen came into the kitchen and started grilling tomatoes and cutting up fresh fruit beside him. Dean was prepared for Sam to join them in the kitchen, silently handing his brother a freshly-brewed cup of coffee before turning back to the food. Everything was coming together, the heat from the fire was already starting to warm up the house. 

“Are you still trying to pretend you slept in the family room and woke up cold? Or did you just use chopping firewood to cover the fact you slept wrapped around Eileen here in your own bed?” Dean said to the wall, loud enough for Sam to hear, but not looking in Eileen’s direction so she couldn’t read his lips.

Sam’s sputtering indignation quickly drew her attention and she looked between Dean’s shaking shoulders and Sam’s red face, her eyes narrowed. A moment later she smacked Dean on the shoulder. “Just because I don’t know what you said, doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re about, Dean Winchester! Stop teasing your brother. It’s Christmas!”

Dean finally turned to Eileen, still laughing. He signed that he was sorry but argued his case. “But it’s my duty to tease him! My God-given right!” 

She was so surprised at the sign language she huffed and then laughed as well. “Fair enough.”

Bobby entered the kitchen to a round of “Merry Christmas!” and Dean started plating all the food. “Everyone dig in!”

***

A half hour later, everyone was full and warm and happy, just as Dean had imagined. There was nothing better than being able to provide for his family. Everything was perfect except for… Eileen tapped him on the arm with her cellphone, passing it to him. He looked over at her with gratitude, and then at Sam and Bobby who nodded before getting up from the table, clearing it and giving him space while they began work on the clean up. 

He automatically navigated to 300cc. And there, at the top of the page sat Cas’s reply.

_There once was a poet discreet_   
_Whom I really wanted to meet_   
_Would I feel just the same_   
_When I found out his name_   
_Or just beat a hasty retreat??_

_I’ll never know unless we give it a go. Yes. Let’s._

_Merry Christmas, Poet.x_

Excitement rushed through Dean’s veins as he read the poem and the note at the end. Cas really wanted to meet him! Where would they meet? He’d have to come up with somewhere quickly! Some place that would make sense to both of them. And… and what if Cas rejected Dean when he found out he was the Poet? Or was angry with him for keeping something so important secret? No. Not today. Today was Christmas, and he was going to enjoy this. Cas wanted to meet him. Wanted to know him. Potentially wanted to be with him. Cas liked him for who he was, even without knowing they were attracted to each other physically. And now he had proven that this whole exercise wasn’t just a lark. He was serious about meeting Dean. About giving this connection a chance. Everything he wanted was so close now he could almost reach out and touch it. He looked up at his family who were bustling around trying to look busy in the kitchen and grinned. “Cas wants to meet me!”

***

After congratulations were said, they moved to the family room to pass out presents under the Christmas tree. Dean had received a book of poems from Sam, which made Dean blush, but also made him grateful to know how supportive his family was of his poetry-writing. A bottle of Bailey’s from Eileen which clearly made her the best date Sam had ever brought home, and warm socks from Bobby who gruffly accepted Dean’s thanks and a hug. Dean had presented Sam with a book on sign language which made him blush to the roots of his hair, and an offer to drive him to see a bunch of law schools next summer. To Eileen he gave a box of chocolate chip cookies with a note promising another surprise after dinner, and to Bobby a list of household projects that Dean would complete while he was home, and a bottle of whiskey. 

After they had all exchanged gifts, they relaxed, chatting and enjoying each other’s company. Dean eventually got up to start work on Christmas dinner, and Sam went back outside to get more firewood. Eileen followed him, bundling up in the new hat, mitts and scarf that Sam had given her for Christmas. Neither Dean nor Bobby said anything when their joyous shrieks and laughter at an impromptu snowball fight was loud enough to hear despite the door and windows being closed. Nor did they say anything when everything went quiet, or when Sam and Eileen finally came back inside, their faces flushed with more than just the cold. 

Eileen quickly moved to help Dean cook, while Sam watched, banished to the far side of the kitchen where he couldn’t mess anything up. Dean was a little skeptical about some of Eileen’s choices, most of which were vegetables. She claimed they were the traditional accompaniment to turkey in Ireland, but Dean suspected that the brussel sprouts and parsnips were to appease Sammy’s need for rabbit food. He hadn’t been planning on trying them, but when she pulled the trays of perfectly browned roast vegetables from the oven, he had to admit that they looked pretty damn good. Dean loved the smell of Christmas cooking, and revelled in having the time and ability to cook for his family. Elieen was great too, very capable in the kitchen— unlike his Sasquatch of a brother who spent the whole time flirting instead of being useful. 

Once he was sure all of the food was cooking on its own, he borrowed Eileen’s phone and snuck away to respond to Cas’s post on 300cc. He was excited about finally getting to reveal himself to Cas as the Poet, but he didn’t just want to skip to that part since, after all, poetry was the basis for their current relationship, such that it was. That someone liked and wanted Dean for more than just his pretty face and his flirty attitude? It was a real first. One that he was not about to forget or be ungrateful for.

He looked at the poem he’d composed and nodded. This was good. He only hoped Cas appreciated the sentiment as much as he did. Dean added the note (and the kiss!) at the end and pressed submit, heading back to the kitchen satisfied instead of anxious now that things were finally coming to a head. He made sure to make as much noise as possible on his way back, giving the two new lovebirds plenty of warning to stop kissing before he returned. 

Christmas dinner was a cheerful affair with more good food and laughter until they were all pleasantly full and lethargic. Sam and Dean had surprised Eileen with a traditional Christmas Pudding after dinner. They had bought it and squirrelled it away in Baby’s trunk when she wasn’t looking. The surprise and delight on her face when presented with a small taste of one of her own Christmas traditions was definitely worth the subterfuge, especially when Dean revealed that he’d even made brandy butter to accompany the pudding. It wasn’t a desert Dean would have chosen personally, but he had to admit that the steamed spicy fruit cake slathered in sweet alcohol-infused fat was pretty damn delicious.

At one point during the evening, Dean was in such a good mood that he got up to sing a Christmas carol, only to have Sam drag him back down. Apparently everyone but him was sick of _The Twelve Days of Christmas._

He went to sleep that night feeling full, loved and happy, dreaming of spending next year’s Christmas with his family, Cas snuggled up beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And if you haven't seen _In Bruge_ (and like "gangster movie, complete with filthy language and plenty of violence" that are "darkly humorous and wonderfully cinematic"), you should definitely DEFINITELY invest some time in watching it. Grin.


	32. Wednesday, December 25th - Castiel

Although he’d gone to bed well past midnight, Castiel still found himself wide awake at eight the next morning.

He hadn’t really celebrated Christmas in years, not since he’d stopped going back to his parents’ house for the Holidays. Sure, he and Hannah would generally make some sort of effort to cook something tasty and would exchange gifts, either before or after Anna left to go and see her family. Gabriel had also made a point of dropping by in recent years— claiming it was to see his “darling cous’” but it was, in actual fact, to share all the drama from the Novak family Christmas that Castiel was no longer, thankfully, subject to.

Castiel stretched out, enjoying the cool air on his face while he was still wrapped up warm and cosy beneath his blankets. Hannah typically slept late into the morning, since the majority of their work happened in the evenings. Not that the theater was open today. But it meant that Castiel had ample time to himself before anyone else could claim his attention.

He doubted the Poet would have seen his response yet, considering it had been posted so late and that it was Christmas morning. Presumably, the Poet would be busy with family and friends over the holidays, which probably meant that the Poet was a postgraduate, most likely connected via VPN since very few undergraduates remained on campus over Christmas.

Which meant the Poet wasn’t Dean.

Castiel felt his heart sink a little. He knew Dean and Sam were heading to their— Bobby’s— place for Christmas. Dean had mentioned they would be gone the whole week, and that Eileen was joining them. Castiel couldn’t help picturing himself in Eileen’s place; sitting in the backseat of Dean’s big black car while the brothers quipped in the front, stopping at diners on route, squeezed into a booth next to Dean, or carrying bags and gifts from the car into a white clapboard house.

Nice dream.

He sighed and threw off the bed covers, letting the chill of the room pull him back to reality. He pulled on his robe determined not to let any disappointment eat into this rare personal time he had, and headed to the kitchen to get his day moving.

***

“You genuinely feel that the script is only fifty-percent of the meaning?” Hannah asked, taking the casserole dish out of Castiel’s hands and placing it into the hot oven.

“Absolutely. And I would argue that, while the original intended meaning of a play is slightly more subject to change given a director’s or producer’s specific vision, that other written materials, like stage direction, for example, are just as susceptible to contextual interpretation. The writer can only ever supply a percentage of a text's eventual meaning. The rest has to come via context, be that in terms of editing, directing, the historical setting or the audience themselves.”

Castiel put the pot that they had used for the meat sauce into the sink to be washed and then tossed the empty lasagne boxes into the recycling box.

“Classic Death of the Author.” Hannah looked at him with a frown. “But as much as fifty percent?”

“My vision for _Free Will_, the story I thought I was telling? It’s still there. But it’s such a small part of what the play now is, what is being communicated through all the different elements that make up the production. Sometimes they don’t even feel like my lines being spoken. I wonder if it’s Kaia and Claire professing their love in earnest.”

Hannah laughed. “It’s very possible that it could be both, Castiel, after everything you have told me about the production.”

“It’s certainly become personal for a lot more people than just me.”

Any further discussion of _Free Will_ and literary theory was curtailed by the sound of the door buzzer snarling out in the hall. “Gabriel.” Castiel left the kitchen to let his cousin in.

“Cassie! You look bedraggled, as always.” Gabriel greeted him with a solid hug before moving through to the kitchen. “And Hannah! Always a pleasure.” He set the various bags he carried on a chair before moving to embrace Hannah.

“Good to see you, Gabe. Survived the morning with the family?” Hannah hugged him back, stooping a little to be on a level with him.

“Ugh. Aunt Naomi was in fine fettle, going on and on about 'how delightful it is that Nathaniel is going to be taking over the Roman Industries accounts now that Uncle Raphael is stepping away from the day to day running of the company and focussing his energies on the board'.” Gabriel mimicked Naomi Novak’s voice a little too convincingly for Castiel’s liking.

Hannah gave him a sympathetic smile, having heard many accounts of the Novak family over the years, but Castiel winced.

“So Nate continues to be the perfect oldest son.” It wasn’t a question. Nathaniel had always been the perfect oldest son, a big brother whom Castiel could never hope to compete with. Not that he’d ever really wanted to. All he’d wanted was for Nathaniel to like him, to play with him, or hang out with him from time to time. Castiel had wanted an older brother who might tease him affectionately, but would ultimately respect his choices and stand in his corner. Nathaniel had despised Castiel and thrown him to the wolves (i.e. their parents) at every opportunity.

Gadreel had been no better. He’d been the darling youngest son. The doted on baby who could do no wrong. He hadn’t wanted or needed Castiel’s friendship because his every wish had been granted by Mother and Father. Naomi had given up her job at Novak Investments to be with Gadreel and home school him, while she’d barely even taken maternity leave after having either Nathaniel or Castiel.

Gabriel had clearly sensed the direction of Castiel’s thoughts, commenting, “Gadreel brought his fiancé back from Princeton with him for the Holidays. She’s from an insanely wealthy family on the east coast, Bella something. Her father is some sort of Pharmaceuticals mogul.”

“Sounds like a perfect match,” Castiel said without irony.

“A perfectly horrible one. Yes.” Gabriel sighed. “Honestly, I only go because I feel like I have to protect Mom from them all. Why she didn’t just divorce Michael years ago beats me. She certainly doesn’t stay with him for my benefit.”

Castiel knew only too well that Gabriel had long since given up any pretence at trying to make nice with Michael. Castiel’s uncle had been as vocal in his disapproval of Castiel’s life choices as he had been of Gabriel’s, inadvertently cementing a somewhat unlikely bond between the cousins.

“But let’s not depress ourselves talking about the bag of dicks that is our family.” Gabriel turned to Hannah. “What’s new, Han? I hear the production is going swimmingly. Has everyone but me been to see it already?”

“Castiel and Balthazar came to see it last week. Anna’s not had a chance what with getting everything ready for her exhibition.”

“Oh, god, yes. That opens soon, doesn’t it?”

“Saturday.” Hannah and Castiel said together before Castiel added “You’re coming, aren’t you? Anna would definitely want you to be there for the opening.”

“I’m supposed to be going to dinner with Kali that night, but if you think Anna wouldn’t mind if I brought her too?”

Hannah looked meaningfully at him. “Gabriel, I know you like to fluff your ego by thinking that Anna still holds a torch for you, but she has honestly moved on.”

“She was never really…” Castiel’s addition was cut off by Hannah elbowing him hard in the ribs. “Anna will be fine about you bringing anyone you want,” he finished off, getting back to the key point. When had they all picked up so emotional baggage? Clearly they needed to move to yet another subject. “Can I give you both my gifts while we wait for the food to finish up?”

Gabriel practically squealed with excitement. “I have gifts for you, too!” He rummaged in the bags and produced two neatly wrapped parcels. “Hannah,” he handed them something unapologetically bottle-shaped, “and Cassie.” This one screamed book.

“Hang on a moment.” Castiel retreated to his room to grab the gifts he had for Gabriel and Hannah and noticed his cell phone lying on his desk. Should he quickly check 300cc?

His hands had already acted of their own accord, typing in his unlock code and tapping on the browser icon. The page loaded, still the last site he’d looked at, and there was a poem, a gift, unwrapped and waiting for him.

_Most people decide with a look  
But you’ll find me an interesting book  
When you open my cover  
Take me as your lover  
That the others perhaps overlook._

_I can’t wait to see you. X_

“Cassie? What the fuck are you doing in there? Wrapping the damn things?”

He vaguely registered Gabriel’s head poking round the door frame.

“Castiel?” Gabriel walked over to stand next to him. “Oh. My. God. Is that…”

Castiel hit the lock button and pocketed his cell phone in one movement, his face flushing with heat. He scooped up the gifts on the desk and scampered back to the kitchen hoping Gabriel would follow quietly.

“Cas-sie! What was that?” Gabriel dogged at him.

“This is for you, Hannah.” He gestured to them to unwrap it.

Hannah carefully removed the tape from one end of the wrapping paper and slid the gift out.

“You haven’t read that one yet, have you?” Castiel asked them.

“No, I’ve actually had a hold on it at the library forever, because it’s still only available in hardcover, which you were generous enough to fork out for! Thank you, Castiel! It’s exactly what I wanted.” Hannah enveloped him in a grateful hug.

“Open yours, Gabriel.”

“Nope. Not until you tell me what was on your cell phone.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Castiel. Really? We’re doing this again?” Hannah looked royally pissed off.

“Hannah...” Castiel started but was interrupted.

“Castiel has a secret admirer who is courting him by posting poems to 300cc. I know you know what that is, Gabe because I have distinct memories of you abusing it thoroughly during your days at KCU.”

“Ooooh Cassie! Why didn’t you say anything!? That’s sooooo romantic!” Gabriel gushed.

“I uh—”

“Lemme see, lemme see.” His cousin made grabby hands for Castiel to hand him the phone.

That clearly wasn’t the response Hannah had expected, and they turned away with a huff to focus on preparing the garlic bread.

“I’m not going to let this go, you realize that, Cuz.” Gabriel fixed Castiel with what he no doubt believed was a winning stare.

Castiel sighed and handed over his phone.

“That’s just the most recent one. If you _have_ to read all of them I’ve got them all saved in my notes app. You can find them there.”

Gabriel tapped away at the screen busily for several minutes, occasionally making excited squeaks or cooing noises, and then “HOE-LEY SHIT! Cassie, this is porn. Did he write this or did you?!”

Castiel leaned over to view which poem Gabriel was looking at, ”er… that one he did, but the next is mine.”

“Interesting that you also made the assumption that the Poet is a He,” Hannah interjected.

“Well, they are, aren’t they?”

“Castiel would like it to be.”

“I don’t know for sure who it is, to be honest,” Castiel admitted, “but yes, there is a man I am very much hoping turns out to be the Poet. Actually, this last post has me more confused than ever.”

He retrieved the phone from Gabriel and went back to the latest poem on 300cc.

“Why, because they want to meet with you?”

“But that’s not what they’ve written. It says they 'can’t wait to _see_ me.' That implies it’s someone I know. Probably fairly well. Otherwise, it would have made much more sense for them to have written 'can’t wait to _meet_ you' like you said,” Castiel reasoned.

“So maybe it is your special guy after all.” Gabriel gave him a playful nudge and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“But I know that he can’t have posted it because he’s not on campus right now, and he’s an undergraduate so wouldn’t have access to the network while he’s away.” Castiel looked down at the floor.

“Didn’t you tell me that he had invited his brother’s girlfriend to come and join them? I thought you said she was a Master's student?” Hannah chimed in.

Castiel blinked dumbly at Hannah. That was completely right, well, apart from Eileen being Sam’s girlfriend. Castiel was fairly sure that she and Sam were still claiming “just friends” status, for the sake of Jessica’s feelings at the very least. But if Eileen was with Sam and Dean, she could access the campus network. Which meant Dean might be able to access it through Eileen. Maybe Dean _could_ have sent that message after all!

Castiel smiled up at his roommate. “Yes. I believe I did. Thank you, Hannah.” He looked back at his phone somewhat longingly, which did not go unnoticed by Gabriel.

“Look, Loverboy, if you want to go and reply to him that’s all good and well, but can we finish up our gift-giving first? I want to know what’s in this bundle of joy.” He squeezed enthusiastically at the wrapped package Castiel had previously handed him.

“No, Gabriel! You’ll crack them! Just open it.”

Gabriel tore off the paper in a flourish. “Cassie! You found me a literal Bag of Dicks!” He held the bag of penis-shaped pasta noodles up so that Hannah could see them. “It’s going to be like boiling up a dish of Novaks for dinner when I cook them!” he said gleefully.

“I’m very glad you like them, Gabriel.” Castiel smiled at how much joy the rather immature gift was bringing his cousin.

“Open yours now,” Gabriel demanded, retrieving the present that Castiel had set aside when he’d gone to his room.

Hannah began to unwrap their gift while Castiel opened his.

“Gabriel, this is very nice. It would probably go very well with your phalluses, after all, who doesn’t like a well-slicked dick?”

Castiel’s attention snapped to his usually stoic roommate, who was holding up a rather nice-looking bottle of chilli-infused olive oil. He laughed heartily. “Who would have thought it. I do believe you are right, Hannah. Too bad we’ve already made the food.”

“Maybe we’ll host a special dinner for your boy-toy once you’ve finally unmasked him.”

Castiel was still chuckling, pulling the paper of his own gift.

“Oh, Gabriel. It’s beautiful.”

He had unwrapped a hand-bound leather-covered notebook.

“You could write your poems in it.” Gabriel was looking at him slightly mischievously.

“You knew?!”

“Anna might have mentioned it.”

“GABRIEL!!”

“I’m sorry, Cassie, but it was just too entertaining to make you suffer. But did you really think that I wouldn’t keep tabs on my favorite cousin? Someone in the family has to keep an eye on you.”

Castiel threw his arms around Gabriel, squeezing him tightly. “Thank you, Gabe, that means more to me than any gift. Not that I don’t love the notebook. I will most certainly be writing my poems in it. Among other things.” He pulled away, smiling.

“Come on, let’s eat so that Castiel can get on with his literary career and leave us to hit the sherry in peace,” Hannah said, pulling the lasagne out of the oven. It smelled delicious.

***

After dinner, Castiel politely excused himself to read the latest poem again and decide how he was going to respond. He hoped Hannah and Gabriel wouldn’t really get drunk together, they usually ended up scheming instead. He would make it quick in order to get back in time to thwart any of their more devious plans for world domination.

Dean— well, the Poet, Castiel still couldn’t one hundred percent be sure it was Dean yet— had responded with a limerick of his own. One that very much fit with his personality and supported Castiel’s theory. Now he just had to test it, to find out if all his longings could be fulfilled.

His heart was in his throat as he composed his message, using the strategy that Hannah had suggested over dinner.

“Be direct. Be clear. Be succinct. And if the Poet asks to meet you at a time when you know Dean would be unable to, you will know immediately it isn’t who you want it to be and you can stop with all this damn poetry nonsense.”

“Hannah!” Gabriel and Castiel had both protested in unison.

“It’s not nonsense! It’s Romance!” Gabriel crooned.

But now, sitting in front of his computer, Castiel admitted Hannah had a point. Direct, clear and succinct. He could do this. He read his very short, very direct, and very unpoetic message over one more time and then hit submit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah for Gabriel and his big bag of dicks~  
Has Hannah redeemed themselves in your eyes yet?
> 
> And what did Cas say in his "very short, very direct, and very unpoetic message" ?? Will this finally get him the answer he's looking for?


	33. Thursday, December 26th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear faithful, long suffering readers. Today is the day we give you chapter 33. Here it is.

Dean woke up fairly early on the 26th, not because he didn’t want to sleep in, but because the list of household chores he had promised tackle seemed to have gotten significantly longer since he’d gifted Bobby the list. 

Fortunately, Eileen was already awake, had the coffee on, and was claiming something about it being “Boxing” day.

“You and Sammy aren’t going to punch each other, are you?” Dean asked sleepily, running a hand through his hair as he sipped the offered cup of black heaven. 

Sam entered, and wrapped himself around Eileen from behind, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “No, dumbass…”

“It’s the day after Christmas,” Eileen explained. “In many countries, it’s celebrated kind of like… Black Friday, but it originates from Victorian England where the tradesmen and workers were given the day off after Christmas and were presented with a 'box' of gifts or special food as a thank you for all of their hard work over the holidays.”

“A day to shop and eat good food? Sounds like a tradition I can get behind!” Dean grinned and took another sip of coffee. “So, I’m not going to get to watch you two wrestle?”

“No, Dean.” Sam scowled. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“As a matter of fact I do, Sammy, and so do you.” Dean held up the list of things that needed fixing. 

“Why did you tell him you’d do all that?”

“I didn’t. He added a 'few' extras. But also, I’m happy to do it— Bobby has done a lot for us, you know. It never hurts to be grateful.” Dean realized seconds too late that he’d used air quotes, a habit it seemed he’d picked up from Cas. Sam, of course, didn’t miss a beat.

“What was that, Dean?” Sam smirked. “Did someone forget to check 300cc this morning and decided to act like the person they are pining for so he doesn’t seem quite so far away?”

“Shuddup.” Dean mumbled and held out his hand to Eileen, silently asking for her phone.

She handed it over with a sympathetic smile.

Dean navigated to 300cc and there at the top of the screen was Cas’s response. He was a little taken aback that there was no poem, but seeing as they were the only two who had used it in the last few days, there was no mistaking who it was from.

_When would you like to meet? _

Dean wanted to see Cas as soon as possible, but it probably wasn’t reasonable to demand his time the moment they were back. New Year’s Eve was reasonable right? It wasn’t too presumptuous to hope that Cas would want to spend it with him, well, the Poet.

Dean typed up his response, and read it back a few times. It felt odd not to include a poem with the note. But he’d follow Cas’s lead. He pressed submit and looked up at the two very interested pairs of eyes staring at him.

“What?”

“What did Castiel say?” 

“He asked when I would like to meet.”

“And what did you say?” Eileen asked urgently.

“See for yourself” Dean passed the phone back to Eileen and put his mug in the sink. It was time to get to work. 

***

A couple of hours later found Dean and Sam replacing one of the stairs that went to the basement. 

“So you and Eileen?” Dean said without looking up from the nail he was hammering into the wood.

“Yeah,” Sam replied rather dreamily from the other side. Dean could hear Sam’s blush even if he couldn’t see it. “I really like her, Dean.”

“I know. She’s one heck of a woman, Sammy, I’m glad I thought to invite her for Christmas.”

“Thanks, Dean, I….Hey! I invited her!”

“You may have asked her, but I suggested it,” Dean said smugly, moving on to the next nail. 

Sam had stopped working and was quiet for a moment, Dean thought he was trying to think of a comeback, but instead, Sam just said softly, “I really do appreciate your support.” 

“You’re welcome. So, you know what you’re going to do about Jessica then?”

Sam groaned. “No.”

“Well, you have to do something. Can’t lead her on or pretend you’re not with Eileen now.”

“I know that, Dean. I’m just not sure what I’m going to say.”

“You’ll figure it out. Just be honest about how you feel.”

“Easy for you to say, we’re not all poets.” 

“No. But poetry isn’t the medium you should use for that particular conversation, Sam, it’ll just muddy the water. I mean, you think you’re getting into law school with that brain?”

“Dean!” Sam admonished.

“Hey, Dean!” Eileen called from the top of the stairs. “There’s a message on 300cc that I think you should see.”

**Thursday, December 26th - Castiel**

Castiel pushed his chair back from his desk and stretched his arms overhead. That had been a solid morning of work. He was really pleased with the progress he was making. Not only had he managed to finish editing most of the current draft, but he had also added a completely new chapter, describing much more honestly and in more detail his inspiration and motivation for writing _Free Will._ After all, how could he prove that the meaning of the text was altered in the staging if he didn’t provide a full account of his own intentions?

He closed his notebook, setting it aside, and was about to get up to make some lunch when he was drawn back to the computer. Not to the document he’d been working on, but to the web browser. To check 300cc.

Sure enough, there was a response, just above the one he had posted yesterday:

_Well, I’m not back until the 29th. How about we spend New Year’s Eve together?_

Castiel was momentarily reminded of the moment when Dean brought down the house lights to leave only Celeste and Diana lit up on stage. This felt like the internet equivalent of the rest of the world melting away and leaving the two of them alone beneath the spotlight. Castiel found that he didn’t really mind. His poems had only ever really been for Dean’s eyes anyway. Because it was Dean. It _had_ to be Dean. Who had said he would be gone the whole week. This message confirmed that.

He paused, trying to decide how best to respond to the invitation, when the moment was broken by the page automatically refreshing with a new post.

_The Queen of Moondoor sends this formal invitation to her poets laureate to attend a royal soiree on the eve of the new annum. - Dorothy said we can use her place. 8pm._

The Queen of Moondoor? Where, or perhaps what on earth was Moondoor? This was obviously aimed at him, because the “invitation”, as bizarre as it was, was to attend a party at Meg and Dorothy’s house. But who was this posting?

Castiel opened a new tab in the browser window and Googled Moondoor. There, front and centre was a picture of Charlie Bradbury in full royalty regalia, surrounded by a host of knights, fools and ladies. However, Castiel barely glanced at the host, because none other than Dean Winchester was standing beside his queen, sword in hand. Castiel swallowed hard. Dean looked beyond attractive in the medieval costume, although it was his grip on the hilt of his weapon that Castiel couldn’t quite pull his gaze away from.

How had he ended up here? Oh, of course, Moondoor.

He closed the tab in order to reread Charlie’s invitation again and stopped. She’d said they were her poets. He and Dean. The other poet was Dean. 

_His Poet was Dean!_

It took a few moments for Castiel to calm himself down enough to even register the words on the page, let alone for them to begin to make sense again. He was thankful he was alone in his room as he knew he was grinning like a maniac, eyes shining, barely able to keep from jumping up and down and shouting with joy. 

“It’s Dean!!”

He whispered it, a private, perfect secret for himself. But it wasn’t going to be a secret. He didn’t _want_ it to be a secret. Castiel wanted to let Dean know that he knew. No. He wanted to let Dean know how utterly over the moon he was that he finally knew. That he’d hoped beyond hope that it had been Dean all along.

He opened the notebook Gabriel had given him for Christmas, turning through all the poems that he’d copied into it last night before he’d gone to sleep, and finally to a fresh page. He picked up his favorite pen and began to write.

**Thursday, December 26th - Dean**

Dean wasn’t sure how to read Eileen’s expression. The woman should be a damn poker player, and it didn’t help any that the light from the kitchen windows she stood in front of put her face in shadow. He set the hammer down.

“Sorry, Sammy, but true love waits for no man.” Dean jogged up the stairs to take a look at Eileen’s phone. 

She handed it to him saying, “you’ve got a date.” 

Dean rushed to see what Cas has said, only to find a rather unsubtle invitation from Charlie at the top of the page. Still, he had to hand it to her. A New Year’s Eve party was exactly what he needed to lure Cas out. “Suppose so.”

“Don’t sound so thrilled, Dean,” Sam said from the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s only an invitation from Charlie for Cas and me to go to a New Year’s Eve party.”

“That’s good!” Sam grinned.

“It wasn’t who he was hoping to hear from though, Sam,” Eileen called down to him.

“Right.”

Dean sat down on the top step to read Charlie’s invitation again. He was about to hand the phone back so that he could send Charlie a message from his own phone, when the page refreshed. And then the page refreshed again. There before him was a new poem, in two parts. From Cas.

_Of all the gifts you’ve given me—_  
_Roses, songs, sweet honey—_  
_None compares to this relief:_  
_My wildest hope and fondest dream._

_And now I know that you are you,_  
_Despite all that I’ve put you through._  
_The one I thought you couldn’t be,_  
_Wooing me with poetry._

_But both in person and with word_  
_You won my heart and my regard_  
_Torn back and forth between the two_  
_When all along they both were you._

_Now you can find me just off stage,_  
_Waiting for you to turn the page._  
_And as the final scene plays out_  
_I’ll reach for you without a doubt._

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Dean didn’t know how long he sat on the stairs, staring at the poem. He wasn’t sure if Eileen was still in the room, or if Sam had come up to join them. He wasn’t really even aware that he was at Bobby’s house. Cas had put it together. He knew Dean was the Poet and what's more— he was thrilled. Dean was his _hopes and dreams_. It was unreal.

“He loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah!”

Dean was pulled unceremoniously back to his current setting, by Sam’s tuneless singing. His brother was leaning over his shoulder reading the screen and grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “But he hasn’t answered your question.”

“Huh, son of a bitch. You’re right. Guess I’m just gonna have to try and phrase the question in a way he’ll understand.” Dean handed Eileen back her phone, got up and headed towards his room. “Finish up with the stairs, Sammy, I’ll be back in a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!


	34. Thursday, December 26th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday! It's Polling Day in the UK, so go exercise your rights and vote if you are there and haven't done so already.
> 
> In the mean time.... THEY KNOW!!! Doesn't feel so good to finally have everyone on the same page? It's almost... poetic. Grin.

There hadn’t been much point trying to do any more work after lunch. Castiel could focus on his thesis as easily as he could stop grinning. That is to say— not at all. Instead, he’d set about getting some less mentally taxing tasks done, starting with the laundry. But even this only got as far as him sorting his lights from darks before he found himself lost in thoughts of Dean again.

He sat down at his desk and opened his new notebook again to look at the poems. Dean’s poems. The poems Dean had written to him. It was so different reading them now, trying to picture Dean composing them, typing them out, sending them off into the wild and wondering if they’d be received. If only he knew how some of them had been received. He flushed thinking of his reactions to some of the more colorful verses. Castiel hadn’t written anything nearly so graphic himself, but if Dean’s poems were to be believed, he’d definitely found an outlet to channel his desires.

All this time, the person dreaming about him, falling for him, lusting for him had been Dean. No wonder that kiss on the night of Thanksgiving had felt so electric. If only Castiel had realized. Why hadn’t Dean told him? He remembered the feel of Dean’s plush lips, the way his tongue had danced over Castiel’s own, the heady smell of rain and leather and desire between them. And then _he_ had ended it, pulled away and left Dean trying to— Fuck. Trying to explain. Dean _had_ tried to explain. Tried to tell Castiel that he was the Poet.

Castiel let his head fall onto the desk with an audible thunk. Dean had tried to tell him, over and over again. He’d tried to tell him at rehearsals, on the phone, and somehow, something had always prevented the conversation from happening. He couldn’t help feeling a little bereft of all those moments he could have had Dean in reality and not just in verse. And now he wasn’t going to be back for another four days. How the hell was Castiel supposed to wait that long now that he knew?

He got up and went to the kitchen to reheat some of the leftover lasagne for dinner. Castiel couldn’t remember if he’d eaten lunch or not and was suddenly ravenous. Hannah was spending the evening with some friends from their production and Anna was still at her parent’s place so there was no need to wait to eat or to accommodate anyone else.

He served himself a generous portion and put the plate in the microwave. Four whole days before he could see Dean. Before he could talk to, touch, and taste Dean. He had no idea how he was going to be able to wait that long. Well, there was always 300cc… The microwave dinged and Castiel grabbed the plate, burning his fingers and quickly set it back down on the counter. He pulled his sleeves up over his hands and picked it up again, hurrying back to his room. Setting himself up to eat at the computer he tabbed over to the browser, still open from where he’d posted his poem earlier. It refreshed.

_So gone._  
_Long given over to desire._  
_It can’t be wrong_  
_Your words continue to stoke my fire._

_Your brand is burned indelibly_  
_I feel your heat inside of me_

_Long gone._  
_Smitten merely by suggestion_  
_I’m in your throng_  
_Waiting for your next direction._

_Just one more thing I need to know_  
_Before desire overflows:_

_Will you_  
_See out the year along with me?_  
_A midnight kiss_  
_The start of all I hope will be_

_Joined in body, as in verse_  
_As only that will quench this thirst._

Castiel moaned softly. The promise of this poem was too much for him to stand now that Dean’s face on his poet wasn’t just a fantasy but a reality. He quickly typed out the first response that came to mind, all pretense at distraction abandoned and headed to the bathroom to indulge in the steamiest shower he could manage.

**Thursday, December 26th - Dean**

Dean blushed as he pressed submit on Eileen’s phone and handed it back to her with his thanks. Sure he had posted more explicit things before, but it felt different now that everyone knew it was him, especially Sam and Eileen who had watched avidly while he typed out what he’d drafted in his room. Dean had quickly maneuvered the conversation to what leftovers they were going to have for dinner and what the plans were for that evening. Sam and Eileen had graciously allowed the topic change. He busied himself in the kitchen, banishing his latest poem and Cas from his mind as best he could. 

From the laughter and teasing he’d received during dinner, it was safe to say he’d failed utterly. How could he not have after those last couple of poems? Knowing that they could be together right this moment if Bobby didn’t live so far away. He could be kissing Cas, touching him, making love…. Dean didn’t think he was being overly presumptuous assuming that the physical desire between them was as strong for Cas as it was for him. The electricity between them could power a small village.

He’d spaced out so completely that Sam, Eileen and Bobby had started taking the other plates to the kitchen while Dean’s remained half-full. He half-heartedly finished his food, lost in a daze of wonder. Somehow Cas’s poem had caught him by surprise. As if this outcome had never seemed possible, and yet here it was. He wanted to read it again. And check to see if Cas had seen his latest poem and answered his question. He needed to check 300cc. Dean got up from the table, taking his plate with him. He came into the kitchen an excuse already on his lips but was interrupted by Eileen flashing her phone in his face. He exchanged his plate for the phone gratefully and read Cas’s response.

_“There is no place I’d rather be,_  
_Than out with you on New Year’s Eve”_

Dean grinned. He had a date with Cas on New Year’s Eve! Oh god. That was still days away.

He was about to hand the phone back but then it updated again.

_”Except for maybe one, perhaps you’d agree:_  
_Would it not be more fun, were it just you and me?_

Dean laughed loudly making both Sam and Eileen jump.

“What happened?” Sam asked

Dean grinned at his brother. “Cas and I are just on the same wavelength.” Or more like Dean was just ridiculously attracted to this feisty version of Cas that he was getting an inkling of.

“Well good, if everything is sorted between the two of you then you can give Eileen back her phone and come and play cribbage with us. Come on, Dean, I want us all to actually spend some time together without poetic interruptions,” Sam whined.

Dean glared at him.

“I know you are psyched that things are finally moving forward with Cas, and trust me, I’m super excited for you because I know just how exciting the start of a new relationship is.” Sam’s smile instantly melted any annoyance that Dean might have felt, but he wasn’t done. “It’s just, this is also our time to get to be together as a family with Bobby. I want to make the most of that too.” 

“Yeah, sorry, Sammy. Here,” he handed the cell phone back to Eileen, “let’s play cards.” He clapped his brother’s shoulder and smiled at him, “Gonna thrash you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure ‘bout that if I were you, Dean.” Bobby’s gruff voice came from the living room as he appeared holding the board and a deck of cards. “Cause I sure ain’t gettin’ lucky at anythin’ but Cribbage, so odds are I’ll be winning tonight!”

True to his word, Bobby swept the field beating everyone else, again and again, round after round. Bobby finally excused himself to head to bed, turning down challenges and offers alike. “I ain’t stupid, boy. Always quit while yer ahead.”

They had all laughed and said their goodnights to Bobby. One glance at Sam and Eileen making eyes at each other was enough to convince Dean that going to bed was the better part of valor. He had a moment’s disappointment when he realized he wouldn’t be able to check 300cc for the rest of the night, but he wasn’t about to hold things up for Sam. 

“I’m going to head to bed,” Dean announced to the table. It was telling that the other two didn’t so much as bat an eyelid at him leaving.

“Great game, Dean,” Sam grinned.

“Thanks for including me.” Eileen had picked up the game extremely quickly and Dean half suspected that she’d been letting them win after a few hands.

“Have a great night, guys.” Dean grinned and got up from the table, taking his glass of whiskey with him. “This is coming with me.” 

Sam rolled his eyes but waved him off. 

Dean walked out of the room, then paused for ten, twenty, thirty seconds before he popped his head back into the room where Sam and Eileen were suddenly sitting much closer together. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! And use protection!” He ducked back out into the hallway just in time to miss the well-aimed empty chip bowl Sam had thrown at his head. Dean laughed all the way up the stairs. 

Well, he might not be able to post a poem for Cas, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t write one. Dean locked his bedroom door and smiled. He had a new plan.

***

The next morning Dean was up out of bed and at the coffee machine in record time. He was itching to post the new poem to Cas, but drew the line at kicking his brother and Eileen out of bed to do it. 

A half-hour, a cup of coffee, and a piece of toast later, there was still no sight or sound of Sam, Eileen or Bobby. Granted it was 7:30 AM. While he waited, he could take a look at the wiring for the flickering light in the front hall and change out the fan timer in the bathroom which kept shorting the circuit. With that decided and nothing else to do while he waited, Dean went out to the garage to find Bobby’s toolbox and got started. They were fairly easy fixes— Dean replaced a frayed wire in the ceiling and set up proper supports so the weight from the light wouldn’t cause it to happen again and replaced the timer unit for the fan in record time. 

He returned to a full kitchen. 

“Yer up early,” Bobby remarked over his coffee.

“Just wanted to get a start on the day. The faster I get it done the more time I have to relax.”

“More like you were jonesing for a hit of Cas.”

“Shut up, Sam. Some people enjoy working with their hands. Helping people, fixing things… Eileen can I borrow your phone?”

“Of course, Dean,” Eileen said at the same time Sam said, “No! You can’t borrow her phone anymore.”

“What the fuck, Sam?” Dean cursed. Sometimes he didn’t understand his brother at all. 

“You’re constantly interrupting us for it!”

“Oh yeah? And who slept undisturbed this morning?” Dean growled. The selfish little...

“I just mean you should use your own phone from now on.” Sam held Dean’s phone out to him. He blinked at it and then at his brother, then back to the phone.

“Sam,” Dean said slowly, as if talking to a small child or a particularly stupid adult, “you know why I can’t. I don’t have a VPN to access the campus network.”

Sam’s look of triumph flashed across his face. “You do now!”

“What?”

“I got Ash to hack into your phone so he could download an illegal copy of the school’s VPN for you.”

Dean stood in shock. 

“So now you can post to 300cc as much as you like.” Eileen smiled. 

“And leave you guys alone, you mean.”

“There is that perk too, of course.” Sam grinned. “But watching you pine is painful, dude. Go do your thing.”

“Thanks man.” Dean didn’t know what else to say. It wasn’t as good as seeing Cas right away, but it was definitely a step in the right direction. And Dean knew exactly what he was going to post first, the hand-written poem that had been burning a hole in his pocket all morning. 

“No problem. Oh, and Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you try and not post quite such explicit things for all the world to see? I’m gonna need brain bleach.”

Dean laughed. “No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a date! 
> 
> But whatever will they do for four more days???
> 
> If your immediate answer was "write more sexy poetry, of course!" then full marks— you've been paying attention!! 
> 
> There'll be no holding back now they both know who they are writing to. We promise.


	35. Friday, December 27th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday! Hope everyone’s weekends are going well. Today’s poems are dedicated to MandalaRose, who did/said something at some point that we sort of remember but have also forgotten, but she’s awesome, so these poems go out to her!
> 
> And yes, that’s *_poems_* plural!! Enjoy.

“Take that pile out to the car and by then I should have the rest all wrapped up for you to take.” Anna pointed to a large stack of canvases packed securely with brown paper and tape leaning against her closet doors.

“Are these all going to fit in your trunk?” Castiel asked.

“Oh god, no! I borrowed Mom’s minivan for the weekend. Lucas and Alfie don’t have any classes because of the holidays so she said she wouldn’t be needing it.”

Castiel smiled, thinking of Anna’s younger, and rather gangly, twin brothers being forced to squish into the back seat of her Honda Fit while she had the family minivan. He picked up the first painting and carefully maneuvered it out of her room, through their apartment and out to the dark red Toyota Sienna belonging to Mrs. Milton. The trunk was unlocked and Castiel gently set the canvas down to open it. Excellent, having the minivan meant that they’d probably only need to do one run downtown to the gallery, unless Anna changed her mind about a painting, or had forgotten something. Both of which were distinct possibilities.

Anna was as exacting about her exhibitions as she was about the process of creating her art; assessing and evaluating the details as well as the proverbial big picture at every stage.

He was very happy to be helping her, not only because he’d missed her over the past few weeks, both of them having been so busy with their different projects, but because he desperately needed to spill to someone about the developments with his poet. With Dean. He grinned contentedly to himself at the thought. He’d woken up that morning to find a new post.

_Waiting  
Endlessly, breathlessly, achingly  
Hard to watch the passage of time  
Slowly  
Going out of my mind with thoughts  
Of you, and me, and us  
Together  
Wanting, taking, making  
Love a real thing  
Soon_

It sounded like Dean was also having a hard time waiting. Hard being the operative word. It was a good thing he had promised to help Anna this morning and had this physical task to distract him, otherwise, Castiel might have been tempted by round two with his hand before he’d gotten out of bed. Not to mention that he would probably go insane waiting for Dean to come back with nothing but work on his thesis to distract him. As now that, like more or less everything else, seemed to lead him back to thoughts of Dean. He’d already posted a reply on 300cc that could really get him into trouble. It was one thing for Dean to be explicit in his poems, but Castiel was a Teaching Assistant in the University’s employ and the message board was a public forum, after all. Sure, they didn’t have his name on them, but it was hardly a secret that he was one of the poets.

He’d feel concerned about it if he truly believed that anyone other than the two of them were paying attention to 300cc right now, and he could ask Charlie to take the post down before the start of term if needs be. Actually, that might not be such a bad idea.

He realized he was staring aimlessly into the minivan’s trunk as his mind raced. The first painting was more than safely situated, so he closed the car again and headed back inside to fetch another. They worked in tandem for some time; Anna wrapping paintings up protectively and then Castiel carrying them to the car until she had no more to wrap and helped him to take the final few out. They’d run out of room in the trunk and had begun loading them in through the sliding side door, setting them carefully between the back seats.

“Do you think you have everything?” Castiel asked.

“Probably not. But I’m at the point that I won’t know what I still need until I get the majority of them up,” Anna admitted. “We’ll probably need to spend a few hours there and then maybe do one more run later today, and possibly one tomorrow morning.”

“Not a problem. I have no plans but to help with whatever you need me to.”

“No poems to post?” Anna asked with a teasing nudge.

“Well, maybe that. But I think I can manage to fit those in while I’m playing artist’s assistant. Are we going to have lunch before we drive down?”

“Let’s pick up sandwiches from Pigwich on the way there. My treat.” Anna was already gathering bits and pieces from around her room that she’d need and threw them into an oversized tote bag.

“You don’t need to buy me lunch,” Castiel protested.

“Nope. But I want to, and I can. Plus you’re taking time out of your own work schedule to help me, so consider it payment in part.”

“In part? What other compensation am I receiving?”

“I’m willing to listen to you tell me all the sordid details about your steamy online love affair!” She laughed as Castiel swatted at her in protest. “Seriously though, let’s go get lunch and you can tell me all about it.”

***

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of art, wire, hooks and stepladders. The gallery owner, a seriously intense woman named Amara, initially hovered, making recommendations and discussing “flow” with Anna, but had eventually wandered off and left them to hang the paintings in peace. They worked easily together, Castiel following Anna’s directions and offering an opinion only if it was solicited, knowing that she would already have a clear vision for the exhibition mapped out.

By the time they got home, Castiel felt dead on his feet and his shoulders ached from holding the larger canvases at the right height while Anna had secured them with the clips and wires. A hot shower was definitely in order followed by crashing on the couch and maybe catching up on some Dr. Sexy while he ate dinner. Which was where Hannah found him, curled up and dreaming about kissing Dean (who was wearing scrubs and cowboy boots) in a hospital elevator.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m happy everything has worked out with the… with Dean.”

Castiel looked up, slightly surprised by the sound of their voice. “Hannah, I didn’t hear you come in. What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

He groaned, rolling out the cricks in his neck.

“Look, Castiel, I felt like I might have been a little too severe about the poetry and your thesis. But I know how hard you work, and I don’t doubt for a moment that you can juggle your workload with a relationship—”

“Hannah, there’s no need to—” Castiel tried to cut in, but Hannah shushed him.

“Please know that I trust you to make the choices that are best for you, and if you choose Dean, then I will welcome him into the fold. Plus I read through all of the poems you two have been writing with Gabriel and I have to say: you’re both really quite talented.” They gifted him with a rare and wolfish grin.

Castiel grinned back, sleepily. “Thank you, Hannah. Both for the compliment and for your reassurance that Dean will be welcome here. I have to confess I’m more than a little eager for him to come over.”

Hannah laughed. “I bet. Now go to bed, Castiel, and let me enjoy the living room without listening to your snores.”

“I don’t snore!”

“We shall have to consult Dean on that one when the time comes,” Hannah said with an eyebrow raised.

Castiel harrumphed, but couldn't help grinning at the thought as he went to get ready for bed.

**Friday, December 27th - Dean**

Dean woke up slowly, wrapped in the warmth of his blankets. He blinked at the light, barely peeking through around the edges of his blackout blinds, and smiled, warm and content. Only a few more days and then he could be with Cas. They were finally on the same page, with everything laid out. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked 300cc. No new messages yet, but it was still early. And soon, Dean would be able to wake up next to Cas and check on him in person. Until then he was just counting down the hours. Dean stretched languidly and then got out of bed. He’d fill the day with chores and make those pesky hours fly by.

After breakfast and coffee, he found himself sitting in front of Bobby’s outdated computer and an old notebook filled with usernames and passwords for all manner of websites. Apparently Bobby had changed a few and then had forgotten to write them down, and which ones it was that he’d changed, now requiring Dean to go through them one by one. It was supposed to have been Sam’s job but he’d weaselled his way out of it calling in the favor, saying Dean owed him and Eileen for borrowing her phone.

He’d heard them leave the property on one of Bobby’s snowmobiles and grumbled into his coffee. He continued to groan as he worked his way through the list, diligently logging all the passwords in the notebook as he updated them: Facebook, Pinterest, YouTube...

“YouTube’s the same as your Gmail, Bobby,” Dean said, not looking over at the man on the couch reading the paper.

Bobby looked up and raised an eyebrow at him. “Well write down what it is then, coz damned if I know it. Always just pulls my email in, without me havin’ to type in no code.”

Dean shook his head and laughed. “Fine… errr—” he saw the next one on the list, “—ancestry.com? Bobby? You go huntin’?”

“Might’ve done.”

“And?” Dean huffed.

“My username is Idjits68.”

“Yeah, I got that. I meant about what you found on the site.”

“Nothin’ much. Mainly learned that family don’t end with blood. You boys are the only kin I need.”

Dean finally looked over to the man who had been his father for the better part of his life. “You mind that our family is growing?”

“Don’t be daft. The heart grows to accommodate everyone. I’m happy that you boys are happy.”

Dean looked down at the page of usernames and passwords, seeing and not seeing the footprint that was the sum of Bobby’s digital life. The footprint he left on their lives was so much grander than this book could ever accurately describe. “We wouldn’t be where we are now without you.”

“Nonsense. Yer good boys.”

“Things could have been very different if you hadn’t stepped in when you did. Listen, I’m trying to say thank you for everything you’ve done for us. Just accept it already!”

Bobby harrumphed but smiled before going back to the newspaper. “Love you too.”

An hour later Dean stretched. Finally done with the list. What a drag. “I’ll get started on lunch.” He was going to make turkey sandwiches and soup for everyone. A warm, hearty meal for Sam and Eileen who had been outside in the cold for a couple of hours now, and he’d be using up some of their considerable leftovers. While he was stirring the soup he pulled out his phone to check 300cc, and a new poem sat on top of the page. Just like that, all the frustrations from his morning of sitting hunched over a slow, old computer, fiddling with passwords were wiped away and replaced with joy.

_Since my eyes have been opened  
I shut them tight  
Picturing when next we meet  
First, say hi, shy  
With new understanding  
Of how things stand  
Between us less space is needed  
So you press on  
Pull me close enough  
For my satisfaction  
More action is required  
Hands rove fueling the desire  
Building faster, hotter, stronger  
Arms around my waist  
No more time  
I can bare to spend apart  
Let’s start this thing already. _

Dean agreed completely. He grinned stupidly at the screen, lost in thoughts of Cas, until the soup bubbled and a scalding drop hit his hand pulling his attention back to the stove.

He cheerfully set out all of the food as Sam and Eileen came in the back door, their faces rosy from the cold.

“Food’s up, Bobby!” he called.

“You look happy… Bobby’s computer treat you right?” Sam asked as he sat down to eat, making a few awkward hand signs at Eileen. Apparently, he’d already been into the book Dean had given him for Christmas, or he was at least trying to make an effort with Eileen’s help.

“Don’t be silly, Sam. He’s happy because of Castiel.” She moved Sam’s hands as she spoke, matching them to her words. “Did he write you another poem?”

Dean grinned. “He did. We are...impatient to be together”

“You don’t seem anxious though.”

“Not at all. There’s no reason to be now that I know that we’re on the same page.” Dean took a large bite out of his sandwich.

“Good fer you. Remember what I said about bringin’ him by soon.”

Dean chewed and swallowed. “You got it, Bobby. But first I’m going to go look at that siding!”

About an hour into working on replacing a section of siding, Dean’s mood had finally dropped off. This was clearly a summer project! He kept his hands busy to keep warm and thought about Cas’s poem again, trying to push through. He should reply, give Cas the same boost that was gifted to Dean that afternoon. It was as if each line was saying, hang on, we’re nearly there. We’re counting the minutes now. How many hours were left, anyways? Dean started working it out in his head and became distracted enough that he accidentally dropped the hammer on his foot. After swearing a blue streak and trying to walk off the pain, he decided to leave the composing to after he was safely and warmly back indoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They’re keeping themselves busy it seems. And if they can be patient, so can you. Until Tuesday, at least!! Next update then.


	36. Saturday, December 28th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sitting comfortably (or squirming with anticipation)? Good! Then we’ll begin.

It was the first time in… well, memory, that Castiel woke up naturally because he couldn’t actually recall the last time he hadn’t set an alarm. It was rather nice to wake up feeling snug and needy, imagining it was Dean’s warmth he was rubbing up against and not just his mattress. He moaned softly, indulging in the friction pulling him to wakefulness. In his dream, they’d been dancing, pressed close together twirling and gliding over a wood sprung floor. There had been other couples at first, but the lights had faded, leaving just the two of them lit, moving closer and closer together until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Castiel ground his hips more deliberately into the sheets, loving the pull of the layers of fabric against his morning wood.

When the music ended they were toe to toe, pressed from chest to knee, nose tips touching and sharing heavy breaths. Alone beneath the spotlight.

Castiel could almost feel the hard planes of Dean’s chest as he, now fully awake and equally as aroused, imagined how the other man would feel holding him so closely. He tried to recall the scent of Dean from their kiss in the car, or the tense muscles of his thighs as they’d sat side by side at the Thanksgiving party, but was frustrated when they alluded his waking mind.

He sighed and turned onto his back, now feeling frustration at his erection rather than arousal. It was no good. He couldn’t do this alone anymore, things had gotten too… He wanted Dean. Needed Dean. With every atom of his being.

Well, if he wasn’t able to be with the man in person, maybe he could get a virtual fix. Castiel reached for his cell phone on the nightstand and unlocked it.

A few taps took him to 300cc, where, sure enough, a new poem awaited.

_Two more days _  
_ Forty-eight or so hours _  
_ Four more hand jobs _  
_ Three cold showers _

_ One sleepless night _  
_ A five hour drive _  
_ Six cups of coffee _  
_ At seven arrive _

_ Thirty seconds _  
_ Til we kiss _  
_ Then no more waiting _  
_ Only bliss._

He growled, thrusting into the fist that wasn’t gripping the phone. He didn’t need more than a few firm strokes before he was coming silently, soaking the cotton boxers he favored for sleeping. Well, that was a little better, at least. He made sure the cell phone was out of the way on the pillow where he’d abandoned it, and carefully cleaned himself up best he could with the Kleenex he kept by his bed.

It hadn’t been an alarm, but his phone had still succeeded in waking him up thoroughly.

***

After taking a shower and changing his sheets, Castiel sat in the kitchen eating toast with honey. He’d have to ask Dean where he’d gotten it from, it really was incredible honey. He took a sip of coffee in one hand and reread Dean’s new poem open on his phone. He must have written it last night, counting the hours until they were together again exactly like Castiel was.

He marvelled yet again at how in sync they seemed to be, both biding time until they would see each other. The more he thought about it the more Castiel realized that it had been that way for some time now, and he just hadn’t been able to see it without knowing that it was Dean. He so desperately wanted to tell him he felt the same way, to tell him he missed him, to hear Dean’s voice so that he was substance again and not just words on a screen or visions in a dream.

Well, that wasn’t impossible, was it? Castiel had a phone right in front of him, and he’d saved Dean’s number in his contacts the very first time Dean had called. It wouldn’t be weird for him to call Dean. They were together now, after all. Weren’t they? Not physically, obviously, that was the problem, but they clearly had a profound bond and would get together officially as soon as Dean was back.

He pushed any doubts aside, picked up his cell phone and initiated a call.

It rang briefly and then his heart soared at the sound of Dean’s gruff voice on the other end of the line, then immediately sank again as he realized he’d reached his voicemail.

“Hey gorgeous. You’ve reached Dean. Leave me a message and I’ll consider making it worth your while.”

The tone sounded and Castiel hesitated for a moment at a loss as to what he should say.

“Um. Hello, Dean. It’s Castiel. I was hoping to speak with you, but it seems you are unavailable. I can’t try again later, as I will be attending Anna’s exhibition opening this evening, but I would like it very much if we could talk soon. I’m v— I fee— Well, I’ll speak to you soon, hopefully.”

He ended the call and put his head in his hands. That was the worst message he had ever left for anyone. Ever. And he was supposed to be good with words. It would be easier in person. Castiel hoped.

**Saturday, December 28th - Dean **

Dean sighed happily as he stood under the shower. He had busted his ass getting all of the plumbing fixed that day, and was now indulging in some fabulous water pressure before the four of them headed to the Roadhouse for the evening. 

Ellen and Jo made quite the fuss when they entered the bar. The regulars rolled their eyes good-naturedly, while the rest turned to look at the new arrivals. 

“Look at who decided to show up! Looking good there, Winchester,” Jo snarked before grabbing Dean and pulling him into a hug. 

“Hey, Jo, good to see you too.” Dean grinned and hugged her back before reaching to hug Ellen as well. Jo ducked out of his arms and into Sam’s waiting ones. 

“You staying out of trouble?” Ellen questioned, looking at each of them in turn. 

“I am, but Sammy here’s had a bit of a wild semester. Haven’t you Sammy?” 

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Anonymous Poet!” Sam retorted.

Jo raised an eyebrow. “Now this I have to hear!”

“Can we sit down first? Then I’m sure the boys will be more than happy to tell yeh all ‘bout it,” Bobby said from behind them. 

“Hey there, Bobby. Does this have anything to do with this fine young lady?” Ellen extended her hand to Eileen. “I’m Ellen, owner of this here fine establishment, and this is my daughter, Joanna-Beth.”

“Jo is just fine,” Jo said and tilted her head to the side staring at Eileen. Suddenly she grinned and signed something.

Eileen lit up and started signing rapidly. The whole group stood shocked while the two young women chatted animatedly with their hands.

“I didn’t know you knew how to sign,” Sam exclaimed.

Jo grinned. “My knife fighting teacher is deaf.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course he is. Ellen, I’m going to need a beer.”

“You got it, sweetie. We saved your regular booth for you guys, so why don’t you head over and get settled in, then we can get some food going.”

Four beers, three hours, two stories and one delicious burger later, Dean found himself up on stage singing what he thought was a great karaoke version of "Feel Like Making Love" by Bad Company. The jeers (that were admittedly mostly coming from his family’s table) were not enough to put him off the song nor shake how he was feeling. He wondered if Cas had ever done karaoke before, and what he would sing if he did. He ended up going back up to sing an encore, choosing “Since I’ve Been Loving You” by Led Zeppelin before he meandered back to their booth.

“Man, you are totally gone on this Cas guy. There is no faking that stupid-in-love face,” Jo snarked. 

“Yup.” Dean grinned, unashamed. 

“It’s cute,” Eileen said aloud as she signed “sickeningly-so.”

“So I can see…” Jo was scrolling through 300cc. She raised an eyebrow a few times, and there was definitely a blush forming under her calm demeanor. “Damn, Winchester, this is some steamy stuff. And more than I really needed to see.”

“Tell me about it.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Scarred for life doesn't even cover it. I’m going to be reincarnated with emotional baggage from Dean’s poetic exploits.”

“Whatever, I think I’m adorable. And so does Cas, clearly, so you two heathens can shut your cakeholes.”

** Saturday, December 28th - Castiel **

There had been a lot of free champagne and very small canapes. But Anna had been fantastic. Seriously fantastic. And Castiel hadn’t been the only one who thought so if the number of sales Anna had made had been anything to go by. She’d kept sneaking back to where he and Gabriel were milling about, trying not to be conspicuously in the way, to let them know which pieces were garnering the most attention.

He’d lost count of how many had already been purchased by about nine o’clock, shortly before Hannah arrived, and so he’d gone around tallying up all the red dots that had been placed beside each of the sold paintings. Anna was surrounded by gallery owners and collectors by this point and was unable to escape to spend any more time with her friends. This was the business part of the evening for her, and, from what Castiel could make out, she was owning it.

He had ended up deep in a discussion with Hannah about their next production, which was hopefully going to be a contemporary adaptation of _Much Ado About Nothing_ with an all-female cast, Castiel remembered. Then he got lost until sometime later when Gabriel had tried to hit on Amara, which had been a spectacularly entertaining disaster, and Hannah had suggested that it was time for the three of them to leave.

They’d said their goodbyes, congratulating Anna on the success of the evening, and piled into a ride-share back home, dropping Gabriel off on the way.

Now Castiel was snuggled up in clean bedding, the pillows plumped up behind him, and his poetry notebook (as he was now thinking of it) open on his lap. He scribbled lines into it as they came to him with surprising ease, happy with the bawdy little rhyme after only a few revisions.

He copied it into 300cc, and hit submit. He set both phone and notebook on the bedside table, rolled over and immediately fell fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of you had been asking about why they didn’t just call each other on the phone. Well, Castiel tried, and he even made his voice a mail. The outcome of that will be explored in more detail next chapter!


	37. Sunday, December 29th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all know how close we are now, right?! Just five more posting days left. (Also, holy crap, it’s just taken me five minutes to break into the “child proof” packaging on these cold med capsules. I’m home from work sick, so doing the posting honours!)
> 
> Also, we recommend that you refrain from eating or drinking while you read this chapter as these poems may cause choking. We’d rather not be responsible for any untimely deaths, or your spouse/roommate/mum/boss getting sprayed with coffee/tea/whisky/ribena/coke.
> 
> You have been duly warned.

Dean woke up groggy, his head pounding and his eyes blurry. He groaned. He never should have had those shots. Stupid Jo and her stupid posturing, forcing Dean to participate. Or something like that. Ugh. It had been a while since he’d woken up hungover. Time for a large glass of water and some greasy food. Dean managed to maneuver himself up out of bed and into the shower. 

The shower helped but Dean still felt like death as he walked back to his room. There was one thing he knew that would be guaranteed to make him feel better. He grabbed his phone off his dresser and opened it to 300cc. What he found, however, just made everything worse.

Dean walked into the kitchen, head bowed.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Sam crowed. Dean winced and gave Sam the finger. Sam laughed. “You earned that hangover, Dean.”

“Piss off. This is so much worse than a hangover.”

“What? What happened?” Eileen asked, now signing all the time with her words. It was a good tactic to help them learn, at least when his head wasn’t pounding. 

Dean collapsed into a kitchen chair dejectedly. “I really thought that Cas and I were on the same page, that he’d figured me out, but now I’m not so sure.”

Sam and Eileen looked at each other worriedly and she pulled out her phone to read Cas’s poem.

Sam burst out laughing a moment later. “What are you talking about, Dean?”

“He doesn’t know it’s me…”

Eileen took pity on him and pressed a mug of coffee into his hands. “Drink up.”

“Are you serious?” Sam asked. “Did you really read this? Out loud, maybe?”

“What are you talking about, Sam? Course I read it. He left a blank space.”

“Sometimes I wonder how we’re related.” Sam shook his head. “Listen up, I’m going to read this ONCE and then we’re never going to talk about it again. Okay?

These verses are making me KEEN  
For someone to lap up my CREAM  
To make good on their lines  
As I— yeah, no, I’m not even going to say that out loud  
Because I know you are…

Now, what word, or better yet, what _name_, rhymes with keen and cream? Starts with D?” Sam pressed.

Suddenly it was as if the fog lifted. Cas had written a limerick around his name!

“Ends in stupid?” Sam continued once Dean had sat up straight in realization. 

“Shuddup, Bitch.”

Dean navigated back to the poem on 300cc to reread it for himself again.

_These verses are making me keen_   
_For someone to lap up my cream_   
_To make good on their lines_   
_As I thrust deep inside_   
_Because I know you are ______ the person I always wanted you to be_

“Damn. How did I miss that?” Dean said with amazement.

“I don’t know. But I hate you both for making me read it,” Sam snarked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waved Sam off, already deep in thought about how to respond. “I’ll make us some breakfast and then you two need to go pack. I want to leave right after lunch.”

Dean got up and brushed by the pair, moving to the fridge to pull out the eggs, and muttering to himself, “obscene… scream…”

Eileen and Sam exchanged glances before quietly exiting the kitchen, leaving Dean to it. 

**Sunday, December 29th - Castiel**

Castiel’s alarm seemed to be physically assaulting him through the darkness of the room. He had always been led to believe that sleeping with your cell phone by your bed could harmfully affect your brain, but he’d never imagined it could be quite so literal. The shrill tones felt like skewers trying to kebob his brain.

He fumbled groggily trying to turn it off and knocked over the glass of water that he’d rather insightfully put on his nightstand before he’d gone to bed. Now he’d have to clean that up and get himself another glass, as his mouth felt like sandpaper and he desperately needed a drink of water. At least he’d managed to retrieve the phone before the glass had toppled over, sparing it a potentially expensive soaking.

He lay in the darkness for a moment, relishing in the silence, wishing he could lie in the dark for just a little longer to let the pain in his head recede just a little more, when he remembered what had prompted him to set the alarm in the first place.

Dean was coming home today.

He would get to talk to Dean. 

Castiel was up and out of bed in an instant, opening his blinds and revealing the grey of a rather icy looking morning beyond his window. He walked to the kitchen to put on the coffee and grabbed a rag to mop up the water at the same time he refilled his glass. He gulped it down without pause and poured himself a second round. His head already felt lighter.

Castiel had decided that he was going to be productive this morning. Beyond productive even. He would try to finish up all the outstanding work left to do on his current draft, finish up a few more rewrites on _Free Will_ and get some chores done around the house. That way he’d be available to focus on Dean when he was back in town. Even if they weren’t going to see each other until New Year’s Eve, Castiel was fairly sure that he wouldn’t be getting more work done. 

The coffee pot stopped bubbling, signalling it was done and Castiel poured himself a cup, inhaling the smell of liquid heaven. He took it with him, letting it cool as he moved through his morning routine. Once he was washed, dressed and breakfasted, he set up at his computer with a second cup (using the “show me the honey” mug Dean had gifted him) and got started on his thesis. He hadn’t felt so motivated in a long, long time, and it was all thanks to one Dean Winchester. Castiel smiled to himself and got to work.

***

Castiel stopped for lunch quite some time later and stretched. How long had he been writing for? He checked the clock in the corner of his computer screen and was astonished that it was almost two o’clock. His stomach rumbled in acknowledgement that it was high time he ate something. He’d have some soup. That was quick and hot, and he could finish up the last few comments he had already decided to add while he ate it.

It didn’t take him long to get back to his computer with his meal steaming in front of him. He scrolled through his document looking for the relevant section, but as soon as he found it, he couldn’t remember what the critic’s initials were that he was referencing. He’d have to Google it.

Tabbing over to the web browser he was momentarily distracted seeing 300cc on his recent sites list, and remembering the rather unsubtle limerick he’d sent last night. He blushed slightly, remembering just how direct he’d been. Would Dean have responded? Without further consideration, Castiel clinked on the link and loaded the webpage. Sure enough, there at the top was his limerick. No, wait a minute, it wasn’t his. His own verse was just below. Dean had replied! In the very same format.

_So direct and delightfully obscene_   
_About how you’ll be making me scream_   
_Hope you know I’ll concede_   
_To whatever you need_   
_Now that you know I am______ the person you always wanted me to be_

Castiel smiled a large gummy grin, his whole face creasing in delight. This man. This amazing, sexy, clever, funny man, that seemed to embrace his clumsy drunken advances as readily as he did heartfelt and sincere confessions. He was everything Castiel wanted, everything Castiel needed. And he needed him as soon as humanly possible.

Every prior intention forgotten, Castiel immediately tried to call Dean, but again he got Dean’s flirty voicemail message. He was slightly more prepared this time.

“Hello, Dean. It’s Castiel. Again. Um. Can you call me when you get this message? I really need you, er,” he mentally kicked himself, “To talk to you. As soon as possible. Please.”

Was Dean not answering him intentionally? Maybe he wanted to prolong the thrill of the chase right up until the eleventh hour, without realizing that it was driving Castiel to desperation.

He sat staring into his cooling bowl of soup.

It was possible Dean didn’t have his phone with him, though Castiel thought that somewhat unlikely, as he would have had to use Eileen’s internet connection to post to 300cc after all. Maybe he should try to text Dean instead.

**[Is it possible to meet up any sooner. I’m finding the wait to be something of a challenge.]**

Castiel ate the soup while he watched the screen of his phone for any sign of reply. But there was nothing. He woke the screen several times, but even once his bowl was empty and he’d set it aside there was still no reply.

He sighed and pushed the phone away, realizing that he still hadn’t looked up the critic’s name, but when his computer screen woke up, 300cc had refreshed and a new post sat at the top of the page.

_For fuck’s sake you two, skip the party, put us all out of our misery and SCREW ALREADY._

Castiel smiled despite his niggling doubt. He would put money on that being Charlie posting. He could text her! She’d know what was going on with Dean, and he could ask her if she was able to take down his last few poems before term started and potentially got him into trouble with the faculty.

**[Hello, Charlie. Two questions: 1. Are you aware of any reason that Dean would be avoiding my calls or texts? 2. Are you able to take down the most recent poems I have posted to 300cc? It occurred to me that it might jeopardize my position as a teaching assistant if they were linked back to me.**

He opened a new tab in his browser and began to (finally) Google the name he needed, but before he was able to even begin reading the search results his phone buzzed with a message.

**[Trust me, if he knew you were trying to reach him, Dean would be answering in a heartbeat. No cell reception at Bobby’s. Total Sprint dead zone. He’s only got WiFi access. As to your second question, sure, just say the word. But make sure you’ve got a hard copy, for posterity ;-) ]**

Castiel let out a sigh of relief. Good news on both counts. And it meant that Dean would get all of his messages as soon as he came back into cell range— no doubt on his drive home. Castiel quickly sent one more and then hurriedly got back to finishing up his work so he could start on some chores before Dean got back into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO CELL COVERAGE! See, there is a very very good and obvious explanation for these things. It wasn’t just that Dean was being an assbutt and not checking his messages. It’s not _our_ fault that Bobby lives in the middle of nowhere. (Er, okay, it is.)
> 
> Guess what happens on Sunday?!?!?!?


	38. Sunday, December 29th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with a NSFRWCYACSW warning: Not Suitable For Reading With Company You’re Not Comfortable Squeeing With
> 
> Yes, that says “squeeing”. It’s a verb. To squee: I squee, you squee, she he it they squee, we squee, you all squee, they all squee.
> 
> So now you know. Grin.

“Thanks for everything.” Dean hugged Bobby while Sam and Eileen were putting their things in Baby’s trunk.

“Don’t be a stranger. Give an old man a phone call once in a while.”

“Yes, Bobby,” Dean said at the same time Sam responded.

“We will.”

“And I expect to see you again, Eileen, it was very nice to have you with us for the holidays.”

“Thank you so much for making me feel at home, Bobby. I had a wonderful time,” Eileen gushed and wrapped her arms around the older man in a tight hug. She pulled back and grinned. “Plus I still have to beat you at cribbage!”

“In yer dreams, girl.” Bobby smiled broadly at her. “Work hard, but not too hard, you hear? I don’t want to have to get either of you idjits out of the hospital due to some such exhaustion nonsense. Especially you, Dean. Oh and bring your fella around next time.”

“I will.” Dean grinned and got in the car. “See you later, Bobby”

Sam gave Bobby another hug before holding the passenger side door open for Eileen and jumping into the back. 

An hour and a half into the drive Dean’s phone suddenly exploded with notifications. “Fuck.” He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the message on top. 

**[Would you like to come over to mine tonight? How about dinner at 7 pm? Or sooner?]**

Some unknown number? Who the fuck was this then? Some random hookup he’d given his number to last semester? Hadn’t they figured out that he only had eyes for Cas by this point? He opened his phone with his thumb and texted back while at a stoplight in Sioux City. 

**[That’s a really nice offer, but I’m driving back to town.]  
[Also, who is this?]**

Seconds passed by as the little dots appeared.  
**[It’s Castiel.]**

Dean nearly caused an accident with how hard he slammed the breaks on. After waving off an angry motorist, and ignoring Sam’s calls of, “What the actual fuck, Dean?!” he pulled over to the side of the road and put on his flashers. 

“Sam. You drive,” Dean started unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car. He opened the backdoor to bodily remove his brother who was staring at Dean incredulously. 

“What is going on? Dean? Are you feeling alright?” Sam asked as he was unceremoniously pulled out of the car, pushed around the vehicle, and maneuvered into the driver’s seat. 

“Everything is fine. Drive.” 

Eileen looked back and forth between them for a moment before understanding dawned. “It must be Castiel.”

Sam shook his head, still clearly having a hard time processing the current events, but Dean had already closed his door in the back seat and put on his seatbelt, texting away.

**[What?! I thought your number was 816-212-7049]**

**[That’s my office landline! It forwards to my cell]**

**[Shit. No wonder my texts kept saying Undelivered.]**

**[You texted me?]**

**[So many times, Cas… So many times]**

**[Oh.]**  
**[Oh!]**

**[Yeah. ;-)]**  
**[Well if the offer is still good, I’d love to come over]**

**[Of course! We have a lot to talk about]**

**[We still have another four hours to drive and then I have to drop Sam and Eileen off, but I’m free after that.]**

**[Sounds good. :) I’ll just wait here then.]**

Dean grinned to himself. He was going to get to see Cas so much sooner than he had expected. He thumbed over to his voicemails, eager to hear Cas’s voice. Dean laughed listening to the unbelievably dorky and awkward messages. 

“Drive faster, Sammy!” Dean urged.

He replayed both Castiel’s messages several times, grinning like a fool before he couldn’t handle it any longer. “You know what, Sam, pull over. As much as I appreciate you been responsible with my Baby, ain’t no way I can handle you going the speed limit the whole way home. I’m driving again.”

**Sunday, December 29th - Castiel**

Castiel had cleaned the kitchen, and the bathroom, and vacuumed his room (including behind the desk and under the bed). He’d eaten a sensible dinner and then taken a shower, but it was still only twenty to seven. He paced through the house like a caged animal, stopping every few laps to check for new messages on his phone.

Unsurprisingly, there were none. 

He groaned and resumed pacing.

Thank god Anna and Hannah were both out, otherwise, they’d no doubt be trying to sit down and talk some sense into him. He was beyond sense. 

The sound of the doorbell tore through the silence in the house, Castiel startled so badly that he dropped his phone. He left it lying in the hallway and hurried to the front door.

There on the doorstep was Dean. He was rumpled and looked slightly worn out, no doubt from a long afternoon driving, but to Castiel, he was the most perfect, desirable and welcomed sight he’d ever beheld.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.” 

It was another spotlight moment— the street beyond, the house behind— everything fell away but the two of them in the doorway. Moments passed as they stood transfixed, blue gaze meeting green.

Dean. 

Dean was here, and Castiel was captivated by his presence, very real, and very close. Finally. And not nearly close enough.

Castiel reached out, pulling Dean inside and toward him, simultaneously kicking the door closed behind them. Dean half moved, half fell into Castiel. Castiel felt his sides light up as Dean’s arms wrapped around him, pulling Castiel closer and steadying himself at the same time. 

A split second later Dean’s plush lips were brushing over his, and Castiel’s brain shorted for a moment. Then he was returning the embrace, pulling Dean to him as their lips came together again. Castiel’s hands moved up Dean’s back and into his hair. Every touch he gave or received fanned the flame of Castiel’s desire. They broke for air for a second, gazes locked. Castiel stared into Dean’s eyes, wondering if the look of wonder and desire he found there matched his own. Castiel pressed their mouths together again, licking at the seams of Dean’s lips in a request to enter. He seemed more than willing to oblige, welcoming Castiel’s tongue with his own, twisting them together and sighing into the kiss. It felt electric, and at the same time, it was a sheer relief to have finally reached this point, to be together, heightening the pleasure of it. 

Castiel couldn’t believe how he had managed to walk away from this man the night of Thanksgiving. His skin was on fire. Dean’s touch was addictive. How had they managed to be in the same room together, week after week, and not be touching constantly?

It was hard to concentrate on anything beyond the feel of Dean’s lips on his, their tongues in an intricate dance. The man was intoxicating and Castiel was more than happy to let desire overcome him. This was what he’d been waiting for, all those months, to give himself to Dean, for Dean to be his. He growled with lust, and pushed Dean up against the door before returning to possess his mouth.

Both their hands were roaming freely, exploring the planes of each other’s bodies beneath their shirts and jeans. Castiel barely registered they hadn’t even made it beyond the entryway and he was already calculating how he could extract Dean from his clothing. But even that thought got lost as he ran his hands down Dean’s broad chest to rest on his abdomen.

“Anyone else home?” Dean murmured against his mouth before he kissed his way to Castiel’s ear.

“Both out until later,” Castiel responded, arching his neck to give Dean better access. Dean’s lips travelled down Castiel’s neck while his hands dipped under Castiel’s shirt. They mapped the plains of his back before grabbing handfuls of Castiel’s ass. 

Two could play at that game.

Castiel wasted no more time, pushing Dean’s soft leather jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, enjoying how the other man was momentarily caught with the sleeves trapping his arms behind him. Castiel took the opportunity to mouth at Dean’s nipples through the cotton of his henley whilst Dean was freeing himself from the garment.

“Cas, can we—” interrupted by kisses, “—your room.”

The jacket fell to the floor with a soft thud. “Uh huh.”

Castiel returned his mouth to Dean’s chest to sneak one more kiss before Dean’s hands in his hair pulled him back up so that they were at eye level. “Cas, so goddamn—” Dean’s lips were gentle but insistent, telling Castiel exactly what he felt without needing to find the words.

Castiel slid his hands up under Dean’s shirt, loving the feel of his muscles twitching when he found a ticklish spot, or the way Dean trembled beneath him when he stroked over somewhere sensitive. He brushed over Dean’s nipples again, savouring the way Dean moaned into his mouth as he did.

Dean had been stroking down Castiel’s back, but now sat at the waistband of his jeans, one finger brushing along the sensitive skin there. It was everything, and not nearly enough.

“Is this—? Are you sure you’re—? It’s okay to—?”

“Yes. Dean. I want. I’ve wanted for so so long. You’re so beautiful. Please.” Each word punctuated by a kiss or a roll of his hips to meet Dean’s. The thought of them stopping now was beyond painful. 

”What happened to ‘we have so much to talk about?’” Dean joked, sliding one hand down below the waistline, slipping it between the denim, and the cotton of Castiel’s underwear. His fingertips gently massaged the flats of Castiel’s ass. That would have been distracting enough all on its own, but Dean’s other hand was on Castiel’s chest, stroking back and forth over a nipple. Castiel breathed hard against Dean’s clavicle, his arousal skyrocketing. He sunk his teeth into the exposed flesh above Dean’s collar, trying to hold it together. Dean moaned, not helping the matter, as Castiel continued to kiss the spot tenderly before he moved to trail more kisses up Dean’s neck en route to his jaw.

“Fuck, Cas. That feels so damn good.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s pulse pounding beneath his lips, and his erection rubbing against Castiel’s hip. He couldn’t help but grind his own erection into Dean’s hip in response, his hands full of Dean’s hair. 

“You’re right Cas, carry on,” Dean added with a sigh, “no talking. Waited too long.” 

Castiel’s hands were everywhere, roaming Dean’s shoulders and chest one minute, his hair tugging at his short strands the next. He was moving shamelessly now, rubbing his painfully hard dick against Dean’s leg, desperate for more friction.

Dean’s hands were on his hip bones, pulling him even closer, chasing the sensation too if his responding thrusts were anything to go by. Castiel obligingly tilted his hips pushing his erection deliberately up against Dean’s as he rolled his pelvis in a satisfying rhythm. 

Dean moved his hand to adjust himself, brushing against Castiel as he did so. “Need some breathing space?” He whispered between kisses. 

“Want you closer,” Castiel whispered back before kissing Dean again, trying to press himself against Dean’s hand. 

“I meant in here.” Dean rubbed over the bulge constrained by Castiel’s zipper. 

“God, yes.” Castiel moaned, the feeling of Dean’s hand against him, even through multiple layers, was amazing and yet not nearly enough. 

Dean set about unfastening Castiel’s jeans and easing them open before moving to take care of his own. That was so much better, Castiel could feel the heat of Dean’s erection against his own through the thin layers of cotton now. The feel of them pushed so close together as Castiel resumed his thrusting was exquisite. His hips were canted at the perfect angle so that every grind caused his own thinly-clothed erection to drag along Dean’s, making them both shudder and whine.

Both Dean’s hands were back on Castiel’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer. Castiel moved faster, grinding his hips even more deliberately, making them both pant with need. Dean had moved one hand up into his hair, holding him close while they kissed open-mouthed, swallowing moans and sighs.

“Yes, Dean. Closer.”

“Nggghhhhh, Cas. More.”

They rubbed against each other, starting to move involuntarily, driving themselves both wild with desire. 

Dean panted out. “Cas, so close. Gonna—”

Castiel broke his frantic rhythm to slide slowly against Dean’s dick, dragging the full length of their erections. Dean’s eyes were squeezed tightly closed, his head resting on Castiel’s shoulder as his orgasm hit. A couple more delicious thrusts and the feel of the wet heat through their underwear had Castiel crying out in pleasure right after him.

“Dean! Oh, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Was their renunion everything you hoped for?
> 
> Yes? No? Either way, Worry not, there's more to come! (literally and figuratively ;-p)


	39. Sunday, December 29th - Dean

Christ on a cracker*. That was possibly the best orgasm of Dean’s life, and he hadn’t even managed to get naked for it.

“Gotta say, you give one hell of a welcome, Cas.” His hands were still in Cas’s pants, unable to resist running his thumb along the exposed skin of his lower back.

Cas lifted his head from where it was nestled in the crook of Dean’s neck and gave him a satisfied grin. “I can assure you, Dean. This is not how I greet everyone.”

Dean lent his forehead to Cas’s, loving being able to finally lose himself completely in the blue depths of Cas’s eyes. “You calling me special?”

Cas was on him again in a moment, pinning him against the front door and worrying Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth. Making Dean forget that there was a cooling sticky mess in his pants and yield to the demands of Cas’s mouth, melting into the heated kisses. Cas finally released him pausing to take a deep, satisfied inhale, and Dean grinned roguishly at him.

“So you gonna give me the grand tour?”

Cas glared at him for a moment and then Dean found himself being hauled through the house. Cas had him by the arm, and Dean was still clinging to Cas’s pants, being towed along as Cas gestured vaguely in different directions while grunting out room names. Dean barely had time to orientate himself before Cas was dragging him up the stairs towards, what Dean very much hoped, was Cas’s bedroom.

Dean looked around the rather functional, tidy room. Its defining feature was the large bookshelf filled with books: literary criticisms, style guides, drama, volumes of poetry— Cas had it all. And lying on the desk was an absolutely beautiful leather-bound notebook. 

“Is that…?” Dean couldn’t help but run his fingers over the cover as if it were and extension of Cas himself. He didn’t need to look to know that Cas was nodding.

“I copied them all into it.” 

“It’s gorgeous.” Dean looked back to Cas, who was watching him hungrily. “Fuck, Cas. _You_ are gorgeous.” 

Dean drew him into his arms, wrapping him up and kissing him tenderly, trying to tell Cas just exactly how gorgeous he thought he was with every slide of his lips. Cas needed no persuading, opening himself up to the contact— to Dean. 

“Mmm…”

Dean backed Cas up until his legs hit the side of his bed and he sat down on it. Cas pulled Dean down with him, causing them to break the kiss. 

“So many wasted weeks,” Cas stroked a finger over Dean’s jaw appreciatively.

“We won’t waste any more time.” Dean leaned in to capture Cas’s lips again, but his stomach interrupted him, grumbling loudly enough to stop the moment. Dean flushed and laughed. 

“I may have skipped lunch in my effort to get here faster. Sammy got kinda pissy about it, but I’m calling it one hundred percent worth it.”

Cas smiled up at him. “I’m inclined to agree, but then again, I am somewhat biased. I’ve already cooked if you want to eat first?”

Dean’s stomach growled again. He laughed and brushed his lips against Cas’s. “Might be a good idea, especially because I have a feeling that whatever is happening second might take a while. At least, I really hope it will.”

“Did you want to… freshen up before we eat?” Cas asked, gesturing to their sticky situation that Dean had nearly completely ignored until Cas had brought it to his attention. He did feel kind of gross. “Err… yeah, I’ll umm…”

“You can borrow some of my clothes if you want,” Cas said unassumingly.

If Dean didn’t already have come covering his stomach and boxer briefs, the thought of wearing Cas’s clothing would definitely have been enough to achieve that situation. As it was his dick gave a hopeful twitch. He’d never get through dinner at this rate. “I’ll just grab some of my clothes from Baby… and—”

“Meet me in the kitchen in ten?” Cas seemed a little reluctant to let Dean go and as it was it took several more moments of languid kissing before Dean was finally able to convince his body to climb off Cas and stand up. He held out a hand and pulled Cas up to stand in front of him and leaned in, unable to resist one more kiss. 

“I’ll… I’ll just go grab that… then.”

“Okay. I’ll… be in the kitchen.”

Dean made it all the way to the bedroom door when he felt himself being forcibly spun around and being kissed very thoroughly once again.

Cas broke away, slightly pink. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Don’t apologize… I am finding it rather difficult myself.” Dean blushed and cradled Cas’s face in his hands, leaning in to kiss him again. Dean finally pulled away and turned quickly to walk down the hallway and down the stairs. He knew that If he looked back he wouldn’t make it to the car. By the time he hit the front door, he was practically running. At least he had the foresight to do up his pants hastily before he stepped out onto the driveway. He unlocked the car and went around to the trunk, he opened it but instead of grabbing his duffle bag he rested his hands on the lid of the trunk and took a deep breath.

“Holy shit,” he muttered and then laughed. Cas was everything and more than he could have ever imagined. And from the way things were headed, they were just getting started. He took another steadying breath to calm his racing heart and retrieved his duffle. He closed the trunk, trying not to be too loud, and headed back inside. 

Dean slipped into the main floor bathroom to quickly wipe himself down and change his clothes. A soft t-shirt, fresh underwear and his jeans which had survived seemingly unscathed. 

Moments later he was walking curiously though the house, having not really paid attention to Cas’s rudimentary walkthrough, for obvious reasons. A moment later he found Cas in the kitchen, dressed only in a robe and slippers, oven mitts on his hands. Dean had somehow overdressed. Cas turned to look at him over his shoulder.

“I made a casserole… if that’s okay?”

Dean blinked at Cas for a moment. His brain a mess of conflicting thoughts. What was Cas wearing underneath that robe? Anything? And if something, was it soft? Silky? Was it going to be very convenient to remove later? What came out however was none the less awkward.

“You’re really on a roll tonight Cas. A Cas-er-roll even.”

Cas rolled his eyes and smiled. “It’s a Beef Tortilla Casserole.”

“Damn, that sounds awesome, Cas.” Dean smiled and stood by the table. Suddenly unsure if he should stand with Cas, be setting the table, or just staying out of the way. “Can I… uh… help?”

“You can grab us some plates,” Cas said gesturing to the cupboard. 

Dean moved to grab them, fiddled around looking for forks and glasses (Cas pointed them out as he dished out the casserole onto the plates that Dean had handed over).

Dean finished putting the forks and glasses on the table in time to see Cas making his way over with the plates of casserole, his robe moving with him and showing tantalizing flashes of skin. 

Dean swallowed hard, and his stomach growled again reminding him of his supposed priorities. “Looks good enough to eat, Cas.” He grinned. “The Casserole looks pretty tasty too.” Dean looked up and winked at him.

Cas raised one eyebrow and gave Dean a meaningful look. “Well, you’ve certainly had time to work up an appetite.”

“Ooooh, salty.”

“Shouldn’t beef be?”

“Just the way I like it,” Dean smirked and took a bite of food. “Mmmmmmm.” Dean moaned around his forkful, closing his eyes and chewing contentedly. “Damn, Cas. This is heaven! If you’d mentioned you could cook in your poems I’d have—” Dean opened his eyes to see Cas’s enraptured face watching him. 

“You’d have what… Dean?” Cas rumbled at him, his eyes flicking back and forth between Dean’s eyes and mouth, while he worried his bottom lip with his teeth. 

Dean promptly forgot what was going to say. 

Cas finally seemed to take pity on him and looked down at his own plate to scoop up a forkful of food. “Glad you like it.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a while, their knees pressed together beneath the table.

“What made you choose to post poems?” Cas asked as he paused to take a drink of water. “Not that I haven’t enjoyed reading each and every one.”

Dean chewed his food thoughtfully for a moment. “I… wanted a grand gesture. So that you wouldn’t write me off as… and 300cc was the perfect spot… the limitations made it more creative and… well. I like poetry.”

“Write you off? Why would I have written you off?” Cas looked up at him, his blue eyes filled with questions.

“I don’t have the best reputation when it comes to lovers… and I really liked— like you. I didn’t want you to think you were just some… I don’t know… conquest? And it’s not like we were ever going to meet naturally— I’m a lowly engineering undergrad, you’re a respected TA doing an English PhD. We live in different worlds.” Dean looked down at his food, taking the opportunity to take a few more bites just in case this conversation ruined his appetite. “I didn’t want you to not take me seriously.”

Cas put his hand over Dean’s, not speaking until he’d looked up and met Cas’s eyes. “I took you seriously from that first day we went through the script together, Dean. It was impossible not to. When we were in the same space you were all I could focus on.” 

“Same. ”

“But a grand gesture?”

“Bobby always told me, if I was going to do something worthwhile, I should do it properly. And—” Dean blushed again, “—wooing you with poetry seemed to be the right thing to do.”

“Seems like it was.” Cas smiled, his face crinkling adorably. Dean brushed his foot against Cas’s. 

“What made you respond? I worried for a bit that I was putting too much unwanted attention on you, that I was making things… difficult.”

Cas chewed a mouthful he’d just taken thoughtfully before answering. “Initially? I think I was just curious. Both about why you seemed to be referencing me, and as to who you were.” He took another sip of water. “I assure you, Dean, that I am not someone who usually receives romantic declarations of any kind, least of all in the form of anonymous online poems.”

“That’s a tragedy. You deserve romantic declarations. I could write poems to you forever.”

“I would very much like that.” Cas looked down at his plate, his ears’ slightly red.

Dean put a hand on Cas’s cheek, turning Cas to face him and leaned in for a kiss.

“Mmmmm, you taste of spicy beef and tomato.” Dean licked his lips suggestively.

“So do you.”

“Does that mean we’re compatible?” Dean smirked.

Cas leaned in for one more fleeting kiss. “That and all the other things. Definitely.”

They resumed eating, finishing up their servings. “More?” Cas asked.

“Definitely. But I’m good on the food. Thanks, Cas. It was delicious.” Dean stood up and began clearing the plates. Cas also rose and moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean.

“Why did you stop writing after Thanksgiving?” Cas asked into Dean’s shoulder. Dean put the plates in the sink and turned in Cas’s arms, winding his own around Cas’s back.

“I wanted you to fall for me and not the Poet. If I could tell you how I felt as me, and not 'lead you on' with the poems, as it were… even though we’re the same person.” Dean huffed a laugh. “You know I even had a moment when I forgot and got jealous of myself!”

Cas laughed, his voice reverberating through Dean, giving him a full-body shiver. “You had every right to be. At that time, I was busy soul searching, trying to justify why I couldn’t give up on the Poet when you were right there… If only I had let you finish your sentence after you dropped me off that night!”

“There were definitely times I could have confessed,” Dean admitted, “but I always made excuses as to why it wasn’t right. I think what it mainly came down to was that I was just scared that you wouldn’t believe the Poet was me. I mean, why would you think that I could write in full sentences, let alone navigate a metaphor?”

“Dean, I never thought you were just a pretty face. Not that you don’t have a very, very appealing face.” Cas kissed said face tenderly before continuing. “But it isn’t just your writing. Even before I knew you were the Poet I could appreciate your artistry and aesthetic vision. You would see moments in the production and know just how to enhance the meaning by adding a specific color or sound to the moment. You created the soundtrack that gave the production another nuance of meaning I'd been previously been unable to express. I always believed you were creative. It just seemed too much to hope that you were creative with words as well.”

Dean felt his face heat and he buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck— nuzzling the soft fabric and breathing in Cas’s unique scent. “Thanks, Cas.”

“And I’m sure that there were more than a few times when it simply couldn’t be helped— times where other people and other things got in the way— things that were not your fault. I seem to remember that I was never able to get you alone. Although I have to also admit to being rather relieved of that at the time. The temptation when it was just the two of us was somewhat overwhelming.” Cas brushed one hand up and down Dean’s side, sending shivers of anticipation up his spine.

“I completely understand… only too well. For the most part, I just wrote what I was feeling. It was kinda the only way I could think of to express myself. And it was all true.” Dean pulled his head up to look Cas in the eyes, wanting him to know how serious he was. 

“It rang true. It was the reason I couldn’t give up on the Poet— on you. Everything you wrote just added to my certainty that we had a truly profound bond. I couldn’t let that go. Not then, not now, not ever.” 

Dean pulled Cas closer and kissed him hard, wanting to prove exactly how profound their bond was, needing to share all the emotion that had been building inside of him over the past months with his lips and tongue. They might have kissed for moments, or hours, Dean neither knew nor cared, it felt so utterly right to be here in Cas’s arms.

Eventually, the kiss slowed and they moved apart. Cas reached down and took Dean’s hand, winding their fingers together. “I also have to confess to being more than a little turned on reading your poems. Knowing that the Poet was picturing me, while I was left with picturing some unknown nebulous person was more than a little frustrating. And to not be able to actually do all those things you were suggesting…”

“I know it wasn’t fair…!”

“I didn’t know it was you, but at the same time, every time I pictured my poet laid out beneath me, it was always your name I ended up screaming.” 

The picture of Cas screaming his name in ecstasy was nearly too much for him to bear. His dick, already more than half hard, twitched enthusiastically. That picture could become a reality all too soon. Dean suddenly remembered their conversation at Thanksgiving. “You admitted to having someone you wanted the Poet to be!”

“Yes, but I could hardly say that I wanted it to be you! I thought you were just asking out of morbid curiosity.”

“Shit, Cas. If we’d just told each other then. We could have spent the whole of the past month…”

“Having lots of sex?” Cas grinned impishly, moving his hips forwards to brush up against Dean’s.

Dean couldn’t quite explain how blood seemed to simultaneously rush to both his cheeks and his cock. His reply came out somewhat choked. “Not just that! You know this isn’t just about sex.”

“I do.” Cas beamed at him. “But I very much hope that there is sex all the same. Lots of sex. After all, you painted me quite a picture with your words. ”

“Looks like we’re on the same page, finally.”

“Would you like to come back upstairs with me, Dean?” 

He grinned wolfishly at Cas. “I would very much like to come. Upstairs.”

Cas rolled his eyes but grinned. He led the way out of the kitchen, not letting go of their joined hands, pulling Dean with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Christ on a cracker" for Destimushi, who may never read this, but who always uses this expression at least once in every story. <3
> 
> So they got distracted eating and talking about everything that happened and how they felt about it. (A true sign that this isn't canon XD, the smut's totally legit though) Speaking of which, don't worry, more sexy times ahead!
> 
> Merry Christmas Eve for those that celebrate~!


	40. Sunday, December 29th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s a Christmas Miracle aka Another Chapter!
> 
> Coz, you know, our gift to you!
> 
> But also DID NO ONE COUNT?! Four chapters remaining but only three more posting days? It was never going to add up unless we gave you a bonus chapter in there somewhere! Grin. And here it is.
> 
> Oh, and there are no poems in this chapter. But there is a fair amount of sex. Grin.

It felt a little unreal having Dean in his room after all those nights not daring to hope that it could be so. It felt important to double-check that this was real. They had only been lying on Castiel’s bed for five minutes, but things were moving quickly. His robe was already open and sliding off of one shoulder, and he’d wasted no time removing Dean’s shirt so that their bare chests could brush against each other.

“Dean.” Castiel propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at Dean. When he continued his voice was both rough and breathy. “This is beyond amazing. You are beyond amazing, and I know how ever we progress from here will be amazing as well, but I need to know…” He searched Dean’s wide green gaze looking up at him, “Your poems… there were several suggestions that you would enjoy being penetrated.” He continued, before he lost his nerve. “Were those lyrical, literal or…?” 

“Both?” Dean suggested.

“Both?”

“Definitely both.”

“Both is good.” Castiel grinned slyly.

Dean had more to say on the matter. “I meant both in terms of the poems, and in terms of us. I definitely want you to fuck me, Cas. And if you’re into it, I’d absolutely like to return the favor. I want to do everything with you. All the things, all the ways.”

“That might take a while.” 

“That’s the plan.”

Castiel expected to see Dean’s cocky grin, but instead, Dean was looking up at him earnestly and smiling softly.

“While I am more than happy for us to make love until sunrise, I hope you’re implying that this is a long term arrangement. Because I’m definitely committed for the duration.” Castiel slid his fingers absentmindedly through Dean’s hair as he gazed down at him adoringly.

“Yes. Absolutely. One-hundred percent, Yes. Long term. You and me.” Dean ran his fingers down Cas’s chest, not once breaking eye-contact.

Castiel lowered himself down onto Dean, connecting their lips as if to seal the promise Dean had made. The chaste kiss lasted only moments before they were both exploring with tongues and teeth, exchanging silent vows with every touch. Castiel moved to kiss along the length of Dean’s jaw and down his neck, lipping at his Adam’s apple which vibrated deliciously as Dean moaned with pleasure. 

Dean ran his hands down Castiel’s back, slowly pulling his robe off and helping him disentangle it from his arms. Castiel’s skin felt like it was on fire, despite the slight chill of the room, and Dean’s roaming hands were only serving to stoke the blaze building inside him. He continued his path of kisses moving from Dean’s neck down to his bare chest. It was warm and smooth and toned and Castiel couldn’t get enough. He alternated using his lips, teeth and tongue to worship the plains and valleys of Dean’s body, leaving no part unexplored.

Dean’s fingers were in his hair, twisting and combing through it, sometimes stroking along his neck, and other times dragging his nails across Castiel’s scalp in a riot of sensation. Castiel couldn’t decide if he was more turned on by the way Dean was desperately clinging to him, or by the positively sinful sounds coming from him as he lapped at a nipple.

“Nggghhhh! So damn good, Cas.” 

Castiel lifted his head and chuckled huskily. “I haven’t even reached your waist yet,” he pointed out.

“Don’t care.” Dean wriggled with anticipation. “You know, scratch that. Time for these to go.” He sat up, displacing Castiel, and quickly undid and shucked off his jeans and his socks, leaving only his boxer briefs. 

Castiel raised and eyebrow inquiringly, pinning Dean with his blue gaze. “Would it be too forward of me to suggest taking _everything_ off?”

Dean grinned and the boxer briefs quickly followed suit. He stretched out naked before Castiel’s gaze. 

“You are beyond words, Dean. All those poems, everything I said, or merely dreamed, doesn’t come close to describing how stunning you are laid out like this.” Castiel ran one finger experimentally along the length of Dean’s smooth, hard dick. “You’re incredible.”

“Come ’ere.” Dean tugged Castiel up his body but was met with hesitation.

“Hold on.” Castiel turned and lifted his hips, sliding his own boxers down and kicking them off to join the haphazard pile of clothes on the floor.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean wasted no time in pulling Castiel onto him so they lay flush against each other, skin touching from chest down to their tangled legs. They both moaned as their erections brushed, the sensation even more unbelievable than it had been at the door earlier now that there was nothing between them to inhibit the sensation.

“You’re so beautiful. How is it that you were single?” Dean rasped into Castiel’s ear.

“A stone like any other,” Castiel quoted.

“Hell Fucking No, Cas. You sparkled long before I noticed. I bet you had hordes of people quietly lusting after you. In fact, I guarantee you had students swooning in your classes.”

“I sincerely hope not, Dean, that would be terribly inappropriate. Not to mention that Sam is one of my students.”

“And moving swiftly on…” Dean grimaced. 

Castiel moved ever so slightly, adjusting his weight onto his other arm, conscious of not crushing Dean beneath him, but Dean pulled him down, grinding up against him as he did so. It was incredible— so much skin, and heat. It made Castiel’s head spin and his heart race. He leant forward, kissing Dean fiercely and rocking his hips so that their dicks dragged against each other. It felt incredible, but Castiel wanted to give Dean more. He broke the kiss and moved down Dean’s body, kissing as he went, looking up at him from beneath his lashes as he made for a very specific destination.

Dean moaned, watching Castiel move down his body. “So perfect, Cas. Ngggghh… I’m uh. Clean. By the way.”

Castiel lifted his head from running his tongue around Dean’s navel, one eyebrow raised, before deliberately moving lower and running his tongue from the base of Dean’s cock to the tip without breaking eye contact. 

“Good to know. I am as well. Not that I assumed we wouldn’t use protection during penetration.” 

“Cool… It’s been about, mmmmm, that feels amazing, er… about six months… for me. Got tested after.” Dean’s eyes shut tight as Castiel sucked lightly on the head of Dean’s erection, his lips leaving it on a light kiss.

“Mmmmm. I was tested too. Although quite a while ago, more like six years since I was with anyone,” Castiel admitted.

Dean’s eyes flew open and he practically sat up. “Six years?! But… what about Balthazar?”

“Yes, exactly. Balthazar. In my freshman year.” Castiel sat up to look at Dean. “We weren’t together very long, truth be told.”

Dean looked really confused. “But… what about the other night?”

“The other night?” Castiel tilted his head to one side in confusion.

“When he picked you up, and you got dressed up? We were on the phone?”

“Oh. You mean when he picked me up to go and see the play Hannah is the producer for?”

“Oh.” Dean shook his head, clearly embarrassed. “You were going to Hannah’s play. I… misinterpreted what was happening when we were on the phone. I’m sorry, Cas. Ugh. Charlie was right.”

“You thought there was something between me and Balthazar?” Castiel couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion. 

“Well during Friendsgiving, more than one innuendo about your relationship was thrown about casually… it wasn’t such a difficult leap to make?”

“Dean. Even when— many, many years ago— Balthazar and I were sleeping together, it wasn’t fulfilling for me. He was respectful, patient, and probably a very good choice for my first partner after coming out as queer, but he never really let me explore sexually. There are things I wanted to try, want to try, but he always took the lead.” Castiel took a deep breath, hoping that Dean would understand. He could see the gears working in Dean’s head, but couldn’t be sure what his reaction would be. 

Dean grinned. “Didn’t I say I wanted to try all the things in all the ways? Whatever you want, Cas, as long as I’m with you, I’m game.”

Castiel surged forward into Dean’s space, forcing him back down and caging him between his arms and chest as he peppered kisses over his face, grinding down that sent jolts of desire through him. “Mmmmm, Dean, you have no idea how I’ve dreamed of having you, taking you apart.”

“Show me, Cas.” 

Castiel stilled, looking him in the eye. “You’re giving me permission to fuck you, Dean?”

“Yup. Please. And if something doesn’t feel good, or if I’m not on board, I’ll let you know. And you do the same, yeah? This should be amazing for both of us, right?”

“Fuck, consent is sexy.” Castiel grinned wickedly and moved back down between Dean’s legs so that he could take Dean into his mouth again. He began alternately licking and sucking the head, while his fingers traced a path over Dean’s balls and back to circle his hole. 

Dean moaned and ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair, spreading his legs wider. 

Castiel took the hint and sucked Dean further into his mouth, using his tongue on the head as his lips moved lower down his length, his fingers not stopping their exploration.

“Cas! Want you. So bad.”

Castiel pulled off with a wet pop.

“Forgot to retrieve the lubrication. It’s in my bedside drawer, could you be so kind as to pass it to me?”

“Really, Cas? That’s an awful long sentence when you could have your mouth around my dick.” Dean grinned, opened the drawer, grabbed a tube of Astroglide, and tossed it to Castiel who caught it one-handed. Dean’s look of approval was worth the delay. “Might want this too.” A condom landed in front of Castiel’s nose.

“Very thoughtful,” Castiel smirked at him before once again taking Dean fully into his mouth. He couldn’t get enough of this man— the taste of him, the feeling of his hot, hard length against his tongue. Castiel loved the ache in his jaw already, not to mention the sounds Dean was making because of him. He wondered what other reactions he could illicit. He quickly opened the lube and squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers before moving back to take Dean into his mouth again. 

He rubbed a lubed finger around Dean’s entrance, circling it slowly, dragging a finger across it but not yet pressing inside as he continued to work his lips up and down Dean’s shaft. 

Dean moaned appreciatively. “Mmmm, Cas.”

He kept on teasing Dean’s entrance, creating pressure but not slipping a finger inside until Dean started squirming, lifting his hips off the bed. Castiel chuckled appreciatively and wrapped one hand around Dean’s cock so as to not be choked, and dipped a finger inside with the other, causing Dean to whine and push back against him. Cas slowly pulled off Dean with a pop, kissing the tip. “So eager. So beautiful.”

“More,” Dean demanded.

Castiel slowly pushed a finger fully inside, gently stretching and curling the rim, massaging the tight muscles so that Dean began to relax. A second finger followed the first, twisting and stroking, searching for the place that he hoped would set Dean alight. Castiel knew he’d succeeded in finding the right spot when Dean arched off the bed with a gasp.

“Do… ahhhhh… again. Please.” He pushed back against Castiel’s intruding fingers and looked at him with lust-filled eyes. 

Castiel was only too happy to oblige, loving the way it made Dean writhe and sigh with pleasure. He added more lube to his hand and began to work Dean with three fingers, thrusting into Dean with a twisting motion, trying hard to remember what felt good along with using the sounds Dean was making as a guide. He’d never been allowed to prep Balthazar; on the few occasions that he had topped Balthazar had always been ready for him, riding Castiel from a place of control. Perhaps this was why he was taking such pleasure in experiencing every stage of lovemaking with Dean.

“Need you,” Dean rumbled, pulling Castiel up his body, and kissing him until they were both breathless. Dean grasped Castiel’s neglected erection and stroked him, gently at first, but then increasing the pace until Castiel shuddered and began to thrust into Dean’s hand. The feeling was similar to that of his own hand and yet wildly better, every movement novel. He leaned his forehead against Dean’s, closing his eyes and letting the sensations wash over him. It was only a matter of moments before he could feel himself nearing release.

“Dean, I—”

“Need you inside me,” Dean murmured, releasing Castiel’s dick and bending his knees up to leave no ambiguity as to exactly what he wanted. “Fuck me, Cas.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. Castiel growled, maneuvering himself between Dean’s legs and hunting for the condom that had ended up lost in the fray. He found it and quickly rolled it on, adding more lube to both his dick and his fingers. Castiel stroked over Dean’s hole once more, sliding his slicked fingers inside to make completely sure Dean was ready.

Castiel rubbed his erection against Dean’s hole, the drag making them both shudder. 

“Is this what you want, Dean?” Castiel’s voice was barely more than a husky whisper.

“Gnnnyesssss! Fuck, Cas. Me. Already.”

Castiel chuckled at Dean’s incoherence, loving that he was the one who had caused this incredible, beautiful man to squirm and moan with anticipation.

“So gorgeous, Dean. You have no idea how stunning you are like this.”

“Cas!” 

“Mmmmmm.” Castiel began to slowly push in, easing his cock head past the tight ring of muscles at Dean’s opening. “So, so stunning.”

He was doing everything he could to move slow, because, despite Dean’s begging for him to speed things up, Castiel wanted to savour every moment of this. He’d spent so long waiting, so long imagining what it would be like to make this bond physical, that now they were actually here, connected so intimately, he wanted to commit it to memory. Maybe it would never be immortalized in verse, but he couldn’t help thinking this was their most epic poetry yet.

“Fuck Cas, I’m not going to break. Fuck me!” Dean begged again, impaling himself further on Castiel’s cock. 

“Just want to…” but Castiel could feel Dean’s heat enveloping him, and could control himself no longer. “Deeeeaaaaannnn.” He pushed in all the way, his balls nudging up against Dean’s ass as he bottomed out. It felt incredible.

Dean gasped out a choked moan as Castiel pulled out a little before pushing back in hard. Oh god, it was too good.

He picked up a steady rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth, his hands moving up to find Dean’s. He interlaced their fingers, bracing himself on his elbows above Dean. His eyes were unfocused and heavy-lidded, Dean’s golden lashes fluttering with each of Castiel’s thrusts.

“More. Cas. So good.” Dean’s voice reverberated against Castiel’s chest. “Ahhh. Yes. Cas. Yes.”

Dean lifted his legs higher, wrapping them around Castiel’s back, and pulling him in tight. It made it harder to thrust but it felt incredible to be held so close. He bent down to kiss Dean, moaning into Dean’s mouth as their tongues brushed against one another.

All sense of time disappeared. They could have been doing this for mere minutes, or hours. Every slide of his cock lit Castiel up. It felt like his inner light was burning so bright that his incandescence might spill out at any moment. He knew he was speeding up, being driven on by the sounds Dean was making. Or maybe he was the one making them, Castiel couldn’t tell. Their mouths were still together, although they were more sharing breath than actually kissing at this point, gasping for the same air. 

He could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine, the glow getting more pronounced as his thrusts becoming frenzied. Dean was squirming and thrashing, his legs squeezing Castiel to him like he might otherwise fly away. He untangled one hand to reach between them for Dean’s neglected cock, loving the feel of its hard heat filling his fist. He tried to focus on timing his strokes with his thrusts, wanting to make this good for Dean before he completely lost himself to the sensations rapidly mounting within him.

“Mmmmmmm, yes, Cas. Close. That. There— mmmmmm.” Dean’s requests were lost in a moan of pleasure. 

His skin was flushed and a delicate sheen of perspiration made him shimmer ethereally in the lamp light. Castiel wanted to devour him and moved to taste Dean’s jaw line but got distracted by the glorious sighs getting increasingly louder as Dean started to lose control.

“Fuck, Cas! Yes.”

Castiel picked up speed, working his hand up and down Dean’s shaft, slick with precome. At the same time, he snapped his hips forward over and over, driving into Dean’s heat. The room was a cacophony of their grunts and moans, the slapping of skin on skin, and the blood rushing through Castiel’s ears. He was losing focus, losing himself in the desire, the pleasure, the overwhelming feeling of Dean— around him, beneath him, against him. 

And then Castiel felt Dean seize up. For a second Castiel worried that he’d done something wrong, but then Dean was coming hard and fast between them, his spend coating both of their stomachs and chests, setting Castiel ablaze all over again. He gasped as Dean’s muscles clenched, holding his cock impossibly tight. Castiel growled, losing all self-control and pounded into the tight ring with abandon.

“Dean. Dean. DEAAAANNNNNN!” It felt like he was exploding. The burning light breaking free, bleeding out from every pore and filling the space between them.

Their eyes locked, Dean looking up at him, open, accepting, satisfied. And Castiel poured himself into that look, as he came shuddering inside of Dean.

“I got you, sweetheart.” Dean murmured, letting his knees drop, but wrapping his arms around Castiel, pulling him in close, stroking gentle fingers down his back and over the globes of his ass.

Castiel collapsed in a rather ungraceful lump atop of Dean. “Mmmmmmppphhhh.” He nuzzled his head into the crook of Dean’s neck. “Glowing.”

“Uh huh. Same.” Dean kissed Castiel’s temple, still stroking up and down his cooling skin.

This closeness was heaven. Castiel didn’t ever want to be further away from Dean than he was right now, but he also realized that he was probably also squashing Dean. He started to carefully withdraw, but the arms around him tightened.

“Nnnnnn. Yer my blanket.” Dean grumbled into Castiel’s hair.

Castiel laughed happily. “Dean. We’re more than a little sticky.”

“Don’t care. Want you.”

Castiel’s heart swelled. “Oh, you have me. But I want to be able to curl up together and stay that way all night long. Will you shower with me?” he asked tentatively.

Dean lifted his head fractionally and raised an eyebrow. “A little late to be shy at this point, Cas.”

“I just wasn’t sure if, you know, after the heat of the moment…”

“Ugh. I fucking _hate_ that song.”

“So, yes?” Castiel carefully shifted his weight, pulling out of Dean with a slight squelch and moving to his side.

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Dean reached for his hand. “Yes to the shower. Yes to cuddling all night long. Yes to it all, Cas.”

“And in less than three hundred characters.” Castiel teased, maneuvring off the bed and offering Dean his hand. “Come on, Poet, let’s get wet.”

“Already did.” Dean grinned and let himself be led to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Happy_ Christmas from Span, and _Merry_ Christmas from Lana, and may 2020 bring you all the Destiel you desire!


	41. Monday, December 30th - Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is short but sweet. And what’s a morning after without a couple of sappy poems? <3

Dean had woken up sore and satisfied the next morning, Cas wrapped around him like an octopus. He snuggled further into Cas’s embrace, fully indulging in Cas’s warmth, and comfort. And if Cas’s morning wood was any indication, Cas was enjoying the wake-up just as much as he was.

“Morning, sunshine.” Dean turned and smiled over his shoulder, wriggling back into Cas’s erection.

“Mmmmmmmmorning,” Cas rumbled from behind him, snuggling closer and burying his face into the back of Dean’s neck.

Dean grinned and did his best to turn over without disrupting Cas too much. The indignant squawk Cas let out suggested he failed pretty spectacularly. Dean kissed Cas’s forehead.

“Not a morning person, huh?” he teased.

Cas attempted to burrow under the covers, muttering incoherently.

“How about you keep your eyes closed a little longer then,” Dean rumbled and stroked his hands down Cas’s back and ass, peppering Cas’s face with kisses and gently placing one on each of Cas’s closed eyelids before kissing down his jaw and neck. Dean held the blanket up over his head and moved to kiss down Cas’s clavicle, his fingers running lightly down Cas’s chest, toying with his nipples. 

Cas shifted, arching into his hands, and his hips stuttering against Dean’s stomach. Dean grinned and continued his path downwards. He teased one of Cas’s nipples with his tongue, the other with his fingers, until they hardened under his ministrations. Dean licked his way over to the other side, taking the other nipple in his mouth. Cas’s hands came up to rest in his hair, petting gently. 

“Mmmmmm.” Cas hummed happily.

Dean took that as encouragement and kissed his way down Cas’s chest to his stomach, his hands now lightly running down his back and ass. Cas’s morning wood now stood at attention, and Dean shuffled down farther to kiss the head, causing the erect member to twitch and bump against Dean’s face. He laughed gently before kissing his way down the shaft, loving how sensitive and responsive Cas was, even— seemingly— half asleep. Dean licked a long stripe back up before taking the long hard length fully into his mouth. The sudden gasp from above made Dean grin, and open his jaw wider to suck Cas further in, running his tongue back and forth on the underside as he hollowed his cheeks. Cas tasted divine.

Cas moaned, tightening his grip on Dean’s hair, pulling it just enough to give Dean a buzz. He pulled off with a slick pop and pushed Cas over until he was lying on his back, Dean moving to situate himself between Cas’s legs, gently spreading them farther apart. He lipped at Cas’s balls, sucking on each of them before licking his way back up Cas’s cock. Dean slowly lowered his mouth down, taking him in deeper and deeper until he had swallowed Cas down to the base. 

“Nahhhahggggg,” Cas grunted, thrusting up in surprise, “Dean!” 

Dean hummed in response, the vibrations making Cas shudder. He lifted the blankets up, letting the cool air in, it was both an irritant and a blessing on Dean’s overheated skin, although raising his eyes to see Cas watching him only served to make flush with further heat. 

Cas gazed down at him, running his hands down Dean’s back and shoulders. “So amazing, that feels incredible…”

Dean pulled back and then sunk down again. Bracing his arms on either side of Cas’s legs as he began to move in earnest. 

Cas’s hips started thrusting up into Dean’s mouth and it was all he could do to hold on. He must have made a noise as Cas had stalled completely.

“Oh god Dean, I’m so sorry, I…!”

Dean pulled off and sat up, cutting Cas’s apologies short with a deep kiss. 

“You can fuck into my mouth if you want,” Dean growled, his voice wrecked, “love the feel of you stretching my lips.” He sank back down, taking Cas into his mouth again, his hands stroking and teasing Cas’s balls, his tongue swirling around the heated flesh in his mouth. He encouraged Cas to rock his hips in time with the bob of Dean’s head and finally, Cas started moving again. Dean hummed his pleasure around the girth of Cas’s cock and reached down to take his own neglected erection in hand. 

“Dean!” Cas called out in warning moments before he came down Dean’s throat. Dean sucked up every last drop before slowly pulling off and placing a kiss on the head. Cas fell back onto the bed, an arm falling over his eyes. 

“I think you sucked my brain out through my dick.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dean grinned, completely satisfied with the image of boneless Cas spread out before him. He stroked himself again— he hadn’t come in his efforts to blow Cas’s mind, and he didn’t regret it at all. 

Cas gestured to him to come closer and Dean moved up to cuddle against him. Cas turned his head to kiss him and ran his hands down Dean’s sides until they reached his erection. Dean pressed himself into Cas’s hand, only needing a few strokes before he too, came. 

Cas finally pulled himself away and Dean had begrudgingly let him go only because he’d been promised coffee and food. He would wait goodnaturedly in bed for Cas to return, remembering how gorgeous all that skin was that was now covered up by Cas’s robe. 

Once the door had closed, and after multiple kisses and promises to hurry, Dean lay back against the pillows marvelling at the difference twenty-four hours could make. Here he was, lying in Cas’s bed, thoroughly fucked and in a committed relationship with the man of his dreams. He hadn’t thought that he would ever get here when he’d written his first poem to Cas all those months ago. And he certainly hadn’t believed they would get past the incident at Friendsgiving, or when Cas had distanced himself from Dean in the weeks following it. He’d gone from despair, to hope, to being slammed up against Cas’s front door when he arrived. Dean grinned in remembrance, the rest of the evening replaying in his mind. His dick gave a twitch of interest but would be out of commission for a while longer. 

Dean stretched languidly, his joints popping in a satisfying way. He rolled over and reached for his jeans lying on the floor next to the bed, fishing out his cell phone. No calls or texts. He blushed. Did everyone he knew know what he was up to and was giving him space? 

Out of habit, he pulled up 300cc. No new messages, just those he, Cas and Charlie had sent. Even though they had only been together for the past twenty-four hours, Dean felt like he had known Cas forever. The last couple of months getting to know him through the play, wooing him and, in turn, being wooed through 300cc was the most amazing and fulfilling experience he’d ever had. And once they had sorted through their miscommunication, they were on exactly the same page. 

Dean had meant it when he’d said he wanted everything with Cas. And for possibly the first time in his life, he meant more than just sex. He wanted to cook with Cas and go on long drives. He wanted to give him massages after a long day, and cheer him on in his successes. He wanted to spend the rest of his life making Cas happy. He was in love with Cas, and it was about time Cas heard it too. Quickly he typed out a silly poem that he hoped got his feelings across in the short amount of time he had remaining before Cas got back with the life-giving coffee and food.

_Roses are red. Your eyes so blue. Holy fucking shit, Castiel. I’ve fallen for you._

Dean pressed send and blushed. Not only would Cas see it and know it was true, but all of campus would know it… and would know that all of his poems had been for Cas specifically… that is, if anyone didn’t already know by this point. There was no more mystery here, no more subterfuge. Just Dean expressing his love for Cas in a public forum. Dean stared at his poem for a moment before vowing to tell Cas to his face when he returned. He was just about to put his phone away when the page refreshed.

_Roses are red, violets are blue.   
That’s really good to hear, Dean,   
Cause I fucking love you too._

Dean blinked and then grinned so hard his face hurt. Cas loved him too. And he couldn’t have been more thrilled to finally be outed as the other poet. He laughed out loud. This might just be the best day of his life. The door opened and Cas’s grinning face filled the space. At once Dean was up out of bed taking the tray of coffee and food and putting it on the desk before grabbing Cas and whirling him around the room with a whoop of joy, doing his best to kiss past both their grins. 

“I’m in love with you,” Dean whispered possessively into Cas’s ear, “in case that wasn’t clear.”

“Oh, I got the message.” Cas beamed back at him. “And I’m in love with you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone has recovered from their festivities, and if not, I hope this scene helps! See you all on Sunday for the penultimate chapter!


	42. Tuesday, December 31st - Castiel

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point, you realize.” Castiel was lying against Dean who was running a hand through his hair soothingly.

“Yup. But I’m gonna wait until I absolutely have to.”

Castiel tilted his head so that he could catch Dean’s lips with his own, encouraging the other man to lean into the kiss and deepen it. It still felt like he was living a dream, getting to touch and taste Dean whenever he wanted to.

Dean shifted them so that Castiel didn’t have to crane his head quite so much, letting the kiss evolve into a heady, heated mess that left them both panting and needy.

“How about we say that this is the last round, and then we go to mine to get ready for the party?” Dean suggested with a cocky grin.

Castiel rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress an indulgent smile. They had barely left the bedroom for the better part of two days, sneaking out only to make food, or use the bathroom, and it had been glorious. Castiel couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so long in the company of just one other person, let alone a time that he had felt so comfortable with another person for any duration. Being with Dean was so easy— whether they were eating soup and sandwiches together while watching Netflix, or trading handjobs squashed together in the bathtub, trying not to slosh water over the edges as they came.

It hadn’t even been awkward when they’d walked into the kitchen to find Hannah and Anna sitting at the table having breakfast on Monday morning.

“Good morning, Castiel, and Dean, I assume?” Hannah had smiled knowingly at them both, making Dean blush.

“Er, Dean. This is Hannah, and Anna, my housemates,” Castiel introduced them, “And this is Dean, the, erm—”

“The Poet!” Anna interrupted gleefully.

“Guilty as charged.” Dean grinned, stepping forward to shake hands, despite the fact that he was wearing one of Castiel’s tee shirts and a pair of his boxers. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“Anna,” she said, shaking his hand and grinning broadly at him. “Damn, Castiel. I see what you mean about Mister Right Now! Let me know if it doesn’t work out.”

Hannah glared at her. “Anna! You know full well that isn’t likely to happen. I take it you meant what you wrote in those poems, Dean?” They extended a hand to Dean who shook it nodding.

“Every word,” he said meeting Hannah’s eyes.

“Good, because if you hurt Castiel we will hunt you down and make you suffer.”

Dean swallowed hard, and Castiel laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “Hannah is speaking metaphorically, Dean. They wouldn’t really hurt you. Would you, Hannah?”

Hannah smiled slyly. “Better not test it.”

Dean threw his head back and laughed heartily, the kitchen filled with warmth at the sound. “I’m very glad that Cas has both of you on his team, but trust me,” Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist pulling him into his side, “I have no intention of doing anything but worshipping this man for as long as he’ll have me.”

Castiel had practically melted into him, and they had to hurriedly make coffee and toast before Anna and Hannah had been forced to witness a rather heated heavy petting session that had ended up with a cold breakfast.

As it was, Castiel was pretty sure they had both gone out earlier than they usually would have to avoid having to listen to the sounds coming from Castiel’s bedroom. Both he and Dean were rather uninhibited with their vocal feedback during sex. And there had been quite a lot of sex. More sex in the past two days than Castiel had had during the rest of his life up to that point. He was deliciously achy in a way that felt satisfying and hard-earned, and he was pretty sure Dean felt the same, if the way he moved just a little more carefully than usual was any indication.

“One more orgasm each, and then we get up and shower,” Castiel negotiated.

Dean grinned lecherously at him. “One more in bed, can’t make promises about the shower.”

Castiel shoved him playfully, but let himself be pulled into Dean’s embrace. “You are certainly very persuasive, Dean. I would definitely enjoy having you inside me again, if you’re willing?”

“Willing? Cas, I’m wanting. And I think you more than enjoyed it last time.” Dean waggled his eyebrows, making Castiel laugh.

“Did I? Seems you’ll have to refresh my memory.” Castiel teased.

Dean growled, pinning Castiel against the mattress. “That can definitely be arranged.”

**Tuesday, December 31st - Dean**

Dean pulled the Impala up outside Meg and Dorothy’s place and killed the engine. He’d managed to (mainly) keep his hands off of Cas during the short drive from his apartment and was itching to run his fingers through Cas’s rather futile attempt to tame his hair. His boyfriend looked stupidly hot in a pair of tight black jeans and a waistcoat over his standard button-down shirt.

Dean thought the ensemble would look even more amazing on his bedroom floor, but he’d promised Charlie that he’d behave himself at the party and be social, so getting Cas naked would have to wait for now. That didn’t mean, however, that he would keep his hands to himself. He reached across the bench to pull Cas closer.

Cas scooted over, moving into Dean’s personal space like he owned it. Dean was honestly more than happy for that to be the case, drawing Cas in to kiss him by the lapels of the ugly tan coat he insisted on wearing.

Much sooner than Dean would have liked, Cas pulled away.

“The cold’s coming in. Let’s go inside.”

“If you insist.” Dean grinned and opened his door, the blast of cold air making them both wince and shiver. Dean got out and waited for Cas at the front of the car where he wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s waist. “Or we could just get back in the car, crank up the heat, and drive back to my place?”

“You’re incorrigible,” Cas said and kissed Dean’s nose.

“And you love me.” Dean grinned and pulled Cas up the front steps to the front door.

“Yes, I do.” Cas squeezed his hand. They grinned at each other, that certainly wasn’t going to get old fast. “But,” Cas said with a sigh, “we did say we’d attend this party and be with our friends, so we should probably go and do so.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but begrudgingly raised a hand to the door. However, before he had a chance to knock, Meg wrenched the door open and pulled them both inside, slamming it closed behind them.

“HA! Less than ten minutes! I win!” she crowed.

“Hey! It doesn’t count if you haul them in before they would have done it themselves!” Charlie complained.

“Please. They were seconds away from knocking,” Meg said dismissively, taking Dean and Cas’s coats from them as they stood in the entranceway, stunned.

“Seconds that could have put them past the ten minute mark!”

“You snooze you lose, Bradbury.”

Charlie rolled her eyes at Meg before turning her attention to Dean and Cas.

“Were they betting on how long it would take us to come inside?” Cas stage whispered to Dean.

“Yup.” Dean stage whispered back before leaning in to whisper properly. “I’d say they’re both a couple of days off though on that account, wouldn’t you say?” and slid his hand into Cas’s. “Coming inside, over, between…”

Cas swatted at Dean and adorably turned bright red. Dean laughed.

“Hey! Keep the gross bedroom talk to yourselves!” Sam said grimacing.

“I could stand to read more…” Eileen smiled, leaning against Sam.

“Whatever, just don’t fill me in on the bits that are too quiet to reach my ears. It’s bad enough that I can see them making gooey eyes at each other without having to actually having to know what they’re saying.”

Dean winked at Eileen, and made a show of turning his back on Sam to talk to Charlie.

“Congratulations! So glad you finally decided to use your words.” Charlie beamed at them.

“You knew?” Castiel looked stunned.

“Sweetie, it was my idea,” Charlie responded before giving them both hugs. Dean hugged her back hard, what would he do without Charlie?

Meg drawled. “Beer?”

“Please,” Dean responded at the same time Cas replied, “Do you have any wine?”

“A sweet Reisling, just for you, my sweet unicorn.”

Dean mouthed “_Sweet Unicorn??_” to Cas who just shrugged and wrapped his arm around Dean, mollifying him completely. They moved further into Meg and Dorothy’s place, which they had opened up by pushing all of the furniture up against the walls.

Within two minutes, they both had a drink in hand, and party hats on their heads.

“The men of the hour are here!” Balthazar shouted when he caught sight of them, drawing all of the eyes in the room, “Darlings! Come on in and spill, well, the details, you can leave the other spilling for the bedroom.”

Dean felt his face heat under the attention of what felt like the eyes of entire production and half an audience. How did they manage to fit so many people in such a small space, and how had his sex life become such public knowledge?

“To the men whose drama has kept us all entertained this semester! To the Poets— Dean and Castiel!”

Oh right, that was how.

“Shut up, Balthazar!” Cas hissed, but only Dean could hear him over the cheers of the rest of the room.

“Kiss!” Max cat-called.

“No! Don’t get them started!” Sam groaned to much laughter.

Dean grinned wickedly, and bent Cas back dramatically, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips. Cas clung to Dean, but Dean suspected only half of it was so that he wouldn’t fall over. However, when Dean tried to straighten up, Cas pulled him back to him and reinstigated the kiss with far more intensity than before. Well, who was Dean to deny his boyfriend?

“Mmmmmm. You really do make a very pleasing couple.” Meg eyed them up as if they were something she could pick from a dessert cart. Dean managed to disentangle himself and shifted them back to a standing position.

“You knew too?” Cas asked, slightly breathless.

“Castiel. I was pretty sure Dean was ready to leap into your arms and declare his devotion to you the very first day he walked into the theater. The poetry was the obvious step.”

“Er,” Sam chimed in, “it started long before the play. Dean had been using meeting me for lunch as an excuse to catch glimpses of Castiel since the start of term.”

“Sammy!”

“Which was why I was determined to get him involved with the production,” Charlie added. “Him wanting to make a grand gesture was just dumb luck.”

“Is all this true, Dean?” Castiel looked up at him, a soft smile playing on his lips.

Dean scratched the back of his neck his eyes lowered shyly. “Yeah. I guess I’ve had a crush on you for a while...”

Cas smiled and kissed him again.

“Okay, okay you two, enough! Party time!” Charlie barged between them, linking an arm through each of theirs and marched them into the fray.

***

Even with his stunning boyfriend beside him and a beer in his hand, Dean immediately picked out trouble in the works when Sam and Eileen were cornered by Jessica in the kitchen. He waited and watched nervously, Cas squeezing his hand in reassurance.

“...we wanted to let you know!” Sam said earnestly, his arm around Eileen’s shoulder.

“I know,” Jessica replied simply. “I’m not angry. Far from it. I mean, I was, at first, but then I started thinking. I have a proposition. For you both.” Her eyes raked down both of their bodies by way of a question.

Eileen’s eyes widened and Sam blushed to the roots of his hair at the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

“What do you think, Sam?” Eileen asked looking back and forth between him and Jessica, a smile dancing behind her big brown eyes.

Sam’s own eyes grew even wider. “You’d… want that?”

Eileen and Jessica grinned at him. “There’s enough for all of us don’t you think, Sam?”

“Holy shit,” Sam cursed as the two women dragged him out of the kitchen.

Dean stood, mouth open, trying to process what he’d just witnessed. “Cas. Did my brother just manage to fix himself a threeway?” Dean asked incredulously.

“It would seem so.”

“Well, damn. Atta boy, Sammy!”

“I think the credit lies with the women on this one,” Cas smirked.

“True enough.”

***

“Ten! Nine! Eight!… ”

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel, sliding his hands into Cas’s jean pockets, and nuzzling into him. “I think this is going to be a great year.”

“I happen to think last year ended rather well. I hope that the coming one merely continues the trend.” Cas smiled and pulled them close.

“...Three! Two! One!...”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for the official announcement of the New Year at the end of the countdown, and kissed Cas deeply, holding him tightly in the cool of the night on Meg’s balcony as the sky exploded in a shower of fireworks. Dean honestly couldn’t have said if the fireworks were going off inside or overhead with how Cas made him feel. Kissing him always felt like an explosion of color and sound, no matter where they were.

“Happy New Year, Dean.” Cas drew back just enough to whisper the words against Dean’s lips.

“Happy New Year, Cas.” Dean paused, savouring the moment. There were no party guests surrounding them nor fireworks in the sky.

“Can we leave now?” Cas asked with false innocence.

“Hell, yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more to go! Join us for the last chapter on New Year's Eve! (Our's that is, obviously Dean and Cas just had their's)


	43. Thursday, February 13th - Castiel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed from the title of chapter, we are jumping forward in time a little from where we last left the Poets! Because you know we had to show you the play, right?!

_Seats still available for Thursday’s premiere of the Poet Castiel’s Thesis-Play “Free Will”. Doors 6:30pm, Curtain at 7pm. $10/ticket. Come see the final drama unfold._

“Stop pacing, Cas.”

Dean tried to reach out and tug Castiel into his arms, but even the lure of his boyfriend’s embrace wasn’t enough to calm the storm of nerves Castiel was drowning in.

“But what if they all hate it, Dean?”

“Firstly, no one is going to hate it, it’s an amazing play. Everyone’s hard work is going to pay off and it will be brilliant. And secondly, even if one person happens not to enjoy it quite as much as everyone else, who fucking cares, Cas? Screw ‘em.”

“Why do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Cause I’m awesome. Don’t worry, Meg’s got everything under control. There’s nothing you can do right now so you might as well relax.”

Castiel sighed, glancing anxiously around backstage, trying to see if he was needed anywhere. “You’re right of course, I’m probably just in the way here.”

“You wouldn’t be in the way if you joined me in the lighting box…” Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I do have a job to do though, so we can’t just make out the whole time,” he teased. 

“The lighting box… Yes. Of course. You need to be there, and I’ll have a good view.” Castiel was still hesitant.

“And if you get stressed, I'll be on hand to relieve some tension,” Dean offered.

“Dean! I’m not going to be the cause of you missing a cue because we’re being indulgent.” Castiel raised an accusatory eyebrow at his boyfriend. “Come on. That’s the fifteen minute bell.”

Dean raised his hands defensively. “Just trying to help, sweetheart.” He led the way through the auditorium to the lighting box, Castiel trying hard not to notice how large the audience had grown since he had last peeked out at it.

Just before they climbed the stairs to the box Dean turned, pulling Castiel into a hug.

“It’s going to be fine, Cas. I promise.” He kissed Castiel tenderly on the forehead. “Better than fine, because you wrote it. And things you write have a way of working out for the best.”

Castiel leaned into his touch, but the crease in his forehead didn’t ease any.

“Need me to distract you?” Dean asked suddenly.

Castiel looked at him curiously and nodded. 

“C’mon.” Dean tugged him back the way they’d come and into the crowd of theater-goers.

Castiel assumed that Dean would head for somewhere secluded, maybe back-stage, or a bathroom, if he was planning a quick makeout session. Instead he found himself being led through the mingling audience to near the front of the auditorium where they stopped in front of a small group of people.

“Dean!” One of the women immediately greeted them.

“Hi, Ellen. Thank you so much for making the trip.”

“Dean. End of the world wouldn’t have stopped us from missing it after everything you’ve told us about this play. Right, Bobby?” The woman turned to the man stood beside her.

“You got that right, Ellen. Wanted to meet Dean’s fella too.”

Dean reached down to squeeze Castiel’s hand.

“Well, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Castiel. Cas, this is my family.” Dean beamed proudly.

Castiel held out his hand for Bobby, but instead found himself pulled into a firm hug, the older man clapping him on the back heartily. “So good to finally meetcha.”

“Let go of him, Bobby, so I can hug the boy too,” Ellen groused.

Bobby let him go with a final thump on the back and Castiel again found himself being pulled in for a hug.

“Best treat our boy right, else you’ll have Jo to answer to, d’ya hear,” Ellen whispered none to subtly into his ear at the same time as she squeezed him.

“Mom!” The third member of the party pushed them apart. 

“It would be good to put those knife throwing skills to some use, wouldn’t it Joanna Beth? I assume those classes aren’t just for extra credit.”

“You make it sound like I’m planning to murder the poor man. God, Mom.” She turned to Castiel and grinned broadly at him. “And as much as I feel compelled to adore any man that’s whipped Dean into submission, don’t think for a moment that I won’t cut you if you break his heart.”

Castiel stood stunned, not sure whether to laugh or run and hide, but then Dean took his hand again and his all of his hesitations melted away.

“Be nice, guys.” Dean elbowed Jo in the ribs.

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” Castiel smiled at them, “and incredibly kind of you all to come all this way to see the play.”

“The play was just a bonus,” Jo confessed. “We were really coming to see you.”

Dean shoved her again, but he was grinning. “And was it worth the drive?” Dean asked her.

“Damn right it was!”

The conversation was interrupted by two more people joining the gathering, checking their tickets to ensure they had the correct row and seat numbers.

“Aw, hon, here it is!”

A blonde woman made for the row behind them, but stopped short when she was seized by the second woman.

“Dean!”

“Oh, hi, Pro— Jody.” Dean stumbled over his words before he smiled at the second woman. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for the invite.” The woman named Jody smiled back at him. “This is my wife, Donna. Donna, this is one of my final year students, Dean Winchester.”

“Nice ta meetcha!” Donna said brightly, shaking Dean’s hand, “Jodes has told me what a hard worker you are.”

Castiel thought Dean’s blush was absolutely adorable, but didn’t get long to enjoy it before his boyfriend was introducing him to the two women.

“This is my boyfriend, Cas. It’s his play,” Dean said proudly as Castiel shook hands with both of the women. 

“I… uh.” Dean stuttered again. Castiel squeezed his hand encouragingly, but he could see the flush on the back of Dean’s neck. What was it about this Professor that had Dean so flustered? “I wanted to thank you for believing in me. And… to tell you… That you were right.”

“You’re welcome,” Jody replied with a grin. “Of course I was right! Erm, what exactly was I right about?”

Dean laughed. “You said to be brave. To take risks. And that things would work out.” Dean turned to stare into Castiel’s eyes. The love he saw reflected back at him made Castiel feel weak at the knees. “Well, I took a risk, and it worked out better than I could have ever imagined.”

Castiel was certain Jody had responded, but he was far too lost in Dean’s gaze to catch what she’d said. 

***

Castiel had forgotten all about feeling anxious by the time they got back to the lighting box. He even managed to relax enough to actually watch the play. He was able to sit back and really enjoy the performance. And to admire Kaia and Claire’s portrayals of Celeste and Diana. 

“I’ve been cursed to live as a human.” Celeste said mournfully. “I won’t be able to help you fight anymore.”

“Celeste!” Diana gathered the angel into her arms. “I love you for you. Cursed or not, I always want you by my side!”

Castiel moved to stand behind Dean, draping himself over Dean’s back and nibbling at his ear.

“Cas… got to focus for this last bit. Mood lighting, and all that.”

“Would you still have been drawn to me had I not been an angel when we met?” Celeste asked brokenly.

“She kind of reminds me of you, you know.” Castiel murmured into Dean’s ear before trailing kisses along his hairline. 

“Celeste?” Dean flipped over the page of his script, obviously trying not to get lost in the distraction Castiel was posing. “Why? Would you have wanted me if I’d never written a single poem?” Dean asked.

“Of course, I wanted you from the moment we met in the barn, before I knew about any of that nonsense!” Diana reassured her lover on stage. “And every day I know you, I learn to love you more and more.”

“Of course. I wanted you from the moment I first saw you in the theater, Dean. I meant Diana. You have her open heart.”

Dean turned his head to look up at him. “_You_ have my heart, Cas.”

“As you have mine.” 

Castiel bent down and captured Dean’s mouth, savouring the slide of their lips and tongues before Dean was drawn back into his work.

Moments later, the curtain fell, and the crowd erupted with deafening applause. Castiel could almost feel the engineering box shaking.

The curtain came up again and Claire and Kaia moved to the front of the stage to take a bow, their hands still tightly clasped together. The other actors began to file onto the stage behind them, the crew following them. Everyone was smiling broadly, revelling in the sound. 

Amidst the cheering, Rowena cut through the cast and took center stage, a microphone in hand. She beamed out at the audience and beckoned for them to hush.

“Thank you all for attending Kansas City University’s performance of the original play _Free Will_, written by our very own Castiel Novak.” she paused for applause before continuing “ I’d like to say a few quick things. First off, a big hand for our incredible director, Meg Masters, who is one of the post-graduate students in my Theatrical program here at KCU. She is a credit both to the program and herself. Well done Meg, you have done a truly outstanding job with this production.”

Meg grinned, her cheeks rather pink at the— very much deserved— praise. 

“And to all our cast and crew, who worked ever so hard on ensuring this production was the absolute best that it could be,” Rowena continued. 

Meg reached for the microphone, and Rowena smirked at her boldness, but handed it over nonetheless. 

“But the biggest thanks should go to our playwright, Castiel Novak, who wrote _Free Will_ as part of his thesis. Without him, I wouldn’t have had a play to direct, the actors wouldn’t have parts to play, and a bunch of people wouldn’t have jobs to do! Clarence! Get your butt up here.”

Castiel felt his face go red as Kevin appeared in the doorway of the lighting box, beckoning frantically. 

“Get going! I got this!” Kevin insisted.

Castiel looked at Dean beseechingly. Dean grinned back at him. “Absolutely. Let’s do this!” 

Together they climbed down from the box and headed down the aisle. As they walked Castiel saw Dean wave to Bobby, Ellen and Jo in the front row. He waved to them as well. He began to pick out familiar faces in the crowd himself: Charlie and Dorothy who held hands in the first row, Hannah and Anna, who sat next to Benny (they had all met previously and bonded over— only half-jokingly— complaining about the loud state of Dean and Castiel’s sex life). And there was Gabriel, grinning impishly at him, for some reason. Oh. His parents. Castiel hadn’t seen them for over a year, but they hadn’t changed dramatically. Only, as he got closer he noticed they had. Because they were both smiling and clapping as vigorously as everyone else. Castiel reached for Dean’s hand and laced their fingers together. 

Dean squeezed his hand, and tugged him onwards towards the stage. They climbed the stairs together and went to stand at the front of the cast. Meg passed him the microphone and after a deep breath, Castiel took it and nodded.

“Thank you for your kind words, Meg and Rowena. But really thank you to everyone, who put all of your time and effort and soul into turning my play into a reality, and proving my argument that drama has as much to do with the production as it does the script. You all helped it became so much more than it ever could have been merely locked on the page. I am so, so grateful to everyone for giving my words life.” He paused and looked across at Dean. “And to Dean, whose words have changed my life.”

Castiel leaned across, untangling their fingers to lift a hand to Dean’s cheek as he tilted his head to kiss him.

He didn’t hear the crowd cheering, or notice Kaia turn Claire and pull her into a kiss no less searing than the one Castiel was currently sharing with Dean. All Castiel knew was that there was no more need for words. He’d said everything he needed to and was more than happy to let his actions speak for themselves. It was definitely poetry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to _**everyone**_ who has been reading along with us, and left such wonderful, kind, and encouraging comments. Whether you started when we posted chapter one, or just joined us a couple of days ago - we appreciate every single one of you! (And welcome to those of you who found this fic once it was complete!)
> 
> We had SO MUCH FUN writing this, so to know that you had just as much fun reading it means the world to us.
> 
> An especially big thank you to those of you who have recommended the fic to others, either on your socials or just to friends. Way to share the love!!
> 
> And fear not. This may be the end of the fic, but it is not the end of our story: keep an eye out for timestamps starting mid February (is there something significant that happens in mid-February?!).
> 
> A final poem? But of course!
> 
> _We close the door and let them be_   
_But through windows many, we still see_   
_These fools who fall repeatedly_   
_Heal wounds inflicted canonically._
> 
> _These words echo others we've loved before_   
_That soothe the soul, the heart restore_   
_So until the muses reclaim our <strike>keyboard</strike> pen_   
_And our Poets Laureate strike again,_   
_There is so much more for you to read_   
_About Castiel and his true love Dean!!_
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!


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